Harry Potter and the Unintended Memory Incident
by Nyx'sReincarnation
Summary: Minerva McGonagall took it upon herself to find more suitable guardians for Harry Potter. Albus Dumbledore was forced to re-deliver him to the Dursleys when they were awake to receive him. These small deviations give Harry a copy of Voldemort's memories, thus depriving Dumbledore of his weapon. [Advanced magic/politics, No bashing, Sane!Voldemort, HP/TMR(LV), No mpreg.]
1. Prologue

Author's Note:

Hello and welcome to my story. I've been lurking around similar stories for months and months now, and I've finally sort of decided to give one a shot. The point of this story for me is to write something I'd want to read. In other words, I want to fix things I didn't like in all other similar stories to make one that is somewhat unique. I actually have an idea for later in the story that I have definitely never seen before, and it doesn't make me wonder how the heck Tom became so nice… ;) I don't know if this will be continued, but *nudge nudge* encouragement and lots of similar stories for me to read would greatly increase the chances that it will be completed.

My ultimate plan is for this to be slash. However, I don't even know how to write relationships, let alone slash ones. So if anyone has advice, please let me know.

All mistakes are my own. I do not have a beta and I do not want one, but I'd love it if you'd point out any errors spotted. I haven't actually read these books for ten years, so a lot of my knowledge will come from online sources or other fics which may not accurately depict canon. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE tell me if I've misspelled a name or place or spell. I'm trying, but some things I think I know but I clearly don't…

Disclaimer: If I owned HP, Harry and Ginny would not have ended up together. Enough said.

Key (listen up please, I'll only say this once):

"Speech"

'Parseltongue

Thoughts

Please ignore any italics in this story – I do not intend to use any because it gets finicky, so any that may appear are unintentional.

Here we go…

Prologue

Under normal circumstances, Minerva McGonagall would not have disobeyed Albus Dumbledore's orders. She greatly admired the man, and would be loyal to him until her death.

However, these were not ordinary circumstances. He had just placed one-year-old Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived and the Wizarding World's newest savior, on the doorstep of muggles who, from what she'd seen, would not treat him as he deserved. On top of that, he had done so in the middle of a chilly November night with only a blanket for warmth. His relatives wouldn't find him for hours. And when they did find him, warming him up would be the least of their concerns. Minerva would put up with almost anything that Albus Dumbledore suggested, but this was definitely crossing the line.

It was for these reasons that Minerva McGonagall refused to let the child stay there. However, she also couldn't take him in herself. She lived and taught Transfiguration at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for ten months of the year. The school was hardly a safe place for innocent eleven-year-olds, let alone a child who was just learning to walk. After running a list of potential guardians through her head, the stern woman decided that taking him with her for the night couldn't hurt. She'd look into guardians Tomorrow.

With pursed lips, the Transfiguration professor carefully scanned the length of the block. When she was sure that Albus and Hagrid had left, she scooped the basket up from the doorstep where her mentor had left it a few minutes earlier and apparated with a near-silent pop. Once again, the night was silent and still.

Upon arriving at Hogwarts, Minerva stayed awake only long enough to make sure young Harry was settled. She did not think to remove and inspect the letter that Hogwarts' Headmaster had placed in his blanket.

When she woke in the morning, Harry was gone, as were her memories of the previous evening. She shrugged the event off and continued with her daily life, not thinking on the youngest Potter's living conditions until nearly ten years later…

Albus Dumbledore knew something had gone awry when the blood wards didn't take. He did several magical scans of his newest acquisition, a device that would track the strength of the protections around his savior. All scans indicated that it was working properly, and yet…

Then he felt the alert from Hogwarts' ancient wards as Minerva entered through the castle's main gate. Or perhaps it is more accurate to say that he felt the alert as Minerva and another, small life form entered through the castle's main gate. Immediately, he knew what had happened.

He waited a half hour after getting this alert. Hopefully it would give Minerva enough time to put Harry down and go to sleep herself. Once he'd waited for what he felt was an appropriate amount of time, he descended the spiral staircase leading to his office and swept through the old castle's stone hallways. He reached his deputy Headmistress's chambers moments later and overrode the password on the portrait guarding her door to gain entrance. As he'd suspected, his deputy and the Potter boy were both asleep.

Were someone to enter the room a mere thirty seconds later, they would find themselves alone with Hogwarts' Deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration professor, and Gryffindore's Head of House.

For the second time that night, Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter stood on the front porch of number four Privet Drive. This time however, events played out much differently than the last.

The elderly headmaster was just kneeling down to place Harry on his aunt's doorstep when the door in front of him opened, and Petunia Evans stood silhouetted in the doorway. Upon seeing the eccentric wizard, she let out a shriek and, with more strength than he thought possible, pulled him and his bundle through the door and slammed it behind them.

That is how Albus Dumbledore got stuck explaining their delicate situation in person. He could see the distaste on the young woman's face as he told her she was now responsible for her nephew. For a few long moments, he seriously doubted the wisdom of his decision. But he'd already justified it to himself so many times that his reasons for leaving the savior with his only remaining blood relatives easily trickled through his mind again. He needed to grow up away from the fame of his new position. He would be with blood relatives, which is more than a lot of orphans could claim. The protection of his mother's sacrifice would save him from the Death Eaters they'd undoubtedly miss in their round-ups for as long as he could call this place his home.

Sometime during Dumbledore's explanation, Petunia's husband Vernon had made his way down the stairs to stand beside his wife. As the explanation progressed, his face slowly became a dark, unattractive shade of reddish purple. If Dumbledore had paid much attention to this warning sign, Petunia's distaste would be the last thing on his mind.

Finally, the elderly wizard finished his explanation with a strong compulsion for Petunia to take in the baby Harry. The poor woman was just in shock, he decided. Once she took the time to consider the situation, she would surely realize, as he had, that this was for the best.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Vernon and Petunia exchanged a glance.

Had Minerva left well enough alone, Harry's presence would have been tolerated until he started crying, at which point Petunia would have claimed a headache and Vernon would have shoved the young savior into the cupboard under the stairs. However, the appearance of not just one freak but two on that chilly November morning changed many, many things. If only Minerva had known…

The youngest Potter awoke with a cry and Vernon, whose patience had already reached its limit, grabbed the bundle roughly from his wife's arms and shoved it unceremoniously into the boot cupboard. He did not notice or care that the small baby's head had been bumped on the doorframe on the way in.

The door slammed shut behind Harry Potter, and an entirely new battle began. This one was between Harry Potter's fifteen-month-old mind and magic, and Lord Voldemort's newly planted horcrux. As one might expect, the horcrux won out almost immediately. After all, it had just separated from the main soul, and as such it had quite a bit of residual magic and strength. It pounced upon this moment of weakness in its new host's defenses as the only magic holding it at bay had shifted its attentions to the newest wound on the baby's head.

However, the horcrux could not take over completely. Its presence had just reached the infant's brain when his mother's protection suddenly flared again, pushing it back out. When all was said and done, the babe lay unconscious in a dark boot cupboard with a bump on his head, a horcrux in his lightning bolt scar, and an imprint of the horcrux's memories on the fifteen-month-old brain.

Author's Note:

As you might imagine, this will change the timeline quite a bit. I have heard about the newest HP play/book released … I don't particularly believe in that universe anyway, so whether it would have happened or not that course will be diverted before it can even begin. I'm struggling with how Tom will react to Harry in general when he finds out… any suggestions are welcome and even invited.


	2. Chapter One

Authors Note:

OH MY GOODNESS YOU GUYS! That was a way, way better response than I was expecting. Thank you all so much for following, faving and reviewing my story. I'm not a morning person, but when I woke up and saw all these alerts in my inbox I definitely woke up a little more than usual. I've tried to respond to each one (or at least, those who have their PM feature enabled), but I don't know if I can keep that up for long if the response keeps being this immense—there wouldn't be enough hours in a day.

To C, my lovely guest reviewer whom I couldn't speak to through PM: thank you so much! That actually really does help me. Sometimes you need someone not in the know to tell you how things should work. :D

I did spell check, but it's kind of acting up… so someone please please tell me if it's missed something. I'd be forever grateful.

Perhaps Harry is a bit more like himself in the original novels than he is to Tom. After all, he doesn't have much influencing him to be kind and forgiving. But the way I see it, he didn't have a fantastic childhood in the originals and he turned out all right. It comes back to the nature/nurture argument I guess … Either way, this is my Harry and he's a good balance for me.

Alright, I've talked enough. I hope to shorten these notes in the future, but somehow I doubt that will happen…

WARNING: Vernon … enough said, I think.

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, Harry and Ron would have split ways after Ron ditched Harry in fourth year. Enough said. (oops, I guess I should have said "SPOILERS" before that…)

See prologue for the key to speech/Parseltongue/thoughts. It shouldn't be that confusing anyway.

Chapter One

That morning started off the same as any other. Harry was awakened by Petunia's light footsteps ascending the stairs. She tapped gently on Dudley's door and offered her usual cheerful morning greeting. When an unintelligible grunt sounded from the other side of the door, the soft footsteps descended the stairs once again. Harry was left alone.

This was a routine that had occurred every morning for four years now. Things had been much different before then. With a faint smile, Harry recalled the events of that fateful evening.

Petunia, Vernon, Dudley, and Harry were seated at the dinner table one particularly chilly evening in winter, and Harry had finally decided to speak up about the difference between the amount of food on Dudley's plate and the amount on his own. After all, he'd just had a long day of chores and he was starving. How was it fair that Harry got less than a third of the amount his slacker of a cousin had on his plate?

He had no idea that his innocent question would cause a tirade that would change his life.

"You don't deserve it, boy!" his uncle suddenly exploded, spittle flying from his lips as he spoke. "Haven't we given you enough already? You have clothes and a roof over your head! We've given you more than a freak like you deserves, you ungrateful brat! If only you'd died in that stupid car crash along with your parents …"

The rest of Vernon's statement trailed off into unintelligible mumbling, but Harry had heard enough. His own temper began to rise, and with it the dinnerware began to raddle ominously on the table. This anger had been growing for a long time. He'd heard mentions of a car crash, but he hadn't yet heard this ridiculous statement relating the crash to his parents' deaths. He looked straight into his uncle's eyes, damn the consequences. "My parents," he annunciated, "did not die in a car crash." His voice had risen to a shout, but with his next statement it lowered to an eerie whisper. "They were murdered by Lord Voldemort"—Petunia uttered a little shriek at this—"the most powerful Dark Lord ever." Harry paused a moment, and then, "and he's coming for you."

This was the seemingly unintelligent and uneducated threat of a six-year-old, but with his eyes glowing a bright green and the plates around him beginning to crack, the Dursley family took it quite seriously. It didn't matter that Albus Dumbledore had told them five years prior that the evil man had been vanquished.

Things changed a lot in the Dursley household after that night, the most notable being that the Dursleys now had a healthy fear of their young nephew. Whenever he got upset, things happened around him and the Dursleys were reminded anew of their terror. Suffice it to say, they made it their goal to keep him satisfied.

With a contented sigh, Harry Potter opened his eyes to greet the new day. It was rather unfortunate, he thought, that Lord Voldemort—or Tom Marvolo Riddle, as Harry knew him—never ended up finding him. Harry fully believed he was still alive, so why hadn't he come? Tom would have treated Harry much better than these filthy muggles had. Tom would have respected Harry for who he was; he wouldn't have judged him based on how he saw his parents.

With another sigh, this one wistful, he rose from the bed in the Dursleys' spare room. This was yet another improvement after the situation four years ago. He quickly dressed and went down to breakfast.

Their meal was eaten in silence. Vernon, who was buried behind a newspaper, let out a grunt of displeasure or a savage comment every few minutes. Petunia spent her meal flicking nervous glances towards Harry and concerned ones at Dudley. Harry smirked slightly as he recalled his "upset episode" from the day before. He tried not to take advantage of scaring them too much. The effect would wear off after a while, and he'd have to think of something more drastic. Besides, he didn't want to turn out like his whale of a cousin who sat shoving as many pancakes into his mouth as would fit at one time.

Unlike Tom, Harry wasn't one for the dramatics. Harry was happy to do the minimum amount of threatening to make his relatives compliant. On the other hand, were Tom in Harry's position, he would rather scare the Dursleys out of their whit's once so they'd never cross his path again.

The mail arrived about halfway through their meal. Vernon grunted again as Petunia said, "Dudley, darling, go get the mail please."

"Make Harry do it," Dudley blurted, then immediately flinched. Perhaps Harry would have to do something more to scare his cousin, he decided. Dudley had clearly forgotten himself, and it had only been a day. Harry glared at the obese child, who immediately began to struggle from his chair to do as his mother had asked.

A moment later, Dudley returned carrying a small stack of letters. He tossed them carelessly on the table, and as they spread out, Harry caught sight of something he recognized.

After fifty-three years, the Hogwarts letters still looked the same. Harry marveled over this fact as he plucked it from between a bill for Vernon and a flier. Petunia had reached as well with the intention of intercepting Harry, but the young boy was quicker. He pulled it out of her reach and deftly opened the envelope.

He didn't have to read the letter—he already knew what it said. He stood from the table without a word and rushed to his room to pen a response.

Professor McGonagall,

I do not know where I could purchase the supplies on the list you've sent me, or where I could find Platform 9 3/4. If you would be so kind to inform me, I shall be at Hogwarts with all equipment on September first.

Regards,

Harry Potter

He opened his bedroom window and stuck his head out. Squinting, he searched the trees for an owl to give the letter to. He was still slightly anxious, but he reassured himself that of course this was all real. As much as he'd seen Tom's memories, sometimes it hit him just how different the Wizarding and muggle worlds were. Sometimes it all seemed like one big dream that he'd eventually wake from feeling wholly discouraged and depressed.

A bright smile crossed the young savior's face as he finally spotted a brown barn owl perched on a tree across the street. He let out a whistle, and the owl immediately took off toward him.

He attached the letter to its leg and gave it a pet on the head and a piece of bacon before sending it on its way back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Harry watched it until it disappeared into the distance with his reply to the Hogwarts acceptance letter. When it had finally vanished from his sight, a ball of warm, excited energy grew in his stomach until he could barely contain it.

Harry Potter was finally going back to where he belonged.

Authors Note:

Notice how nice Harry thinks "Tom" is, even though he's seen his memories. Please be assured that you'll still see Lord Voldemort in all his terrifying, snake-like glory. You can think of this comment as foreshadowing to my future original idea. *evil laugh*

Keep in mind if you please, that Harry is more mature than he might be otherwise because he's seen a lot. He's not fifty-four mentally (the age LV was in 1981) as his brain hasn't developed that much yet, but he knows first-hand how adults act when not around children and he strives to emulate that when he encounters strangers. He's also learned some life lessons that Tom learned, such as the art of intimidation, and I hope to show that more in later chapters.


	3. Chapter Two

Author's Note:

Thank you all so much for your support. Once again, it has been overwhelming, and you all have made my day.

I edited the Prologue. It's nothing major, but a lovely reviewer—Sakura Lisel—pointed out that if Dumbledore was there to deliver Harry in person, the Dursleys could have just refused to take him. The prologue now features a Dumbledore who uses too many compulsion charms for his own good. The review also made me think of the unfortunate presence of Petunia in this chapter. I hope you like the result. :D

Also, please forgive my Americanisms (or Canadianisms, I guess). I'm not even going to try using British slang and spelling, because I know for certain I'd make a fool of myself. Sorry.

I just want to warn you now, I definitely won't be able to keep up with this updating schedule, especially when September hits (and hit it will, trust me). I'll do my best, but it all depends on both how much time I have and how much I'm enjoying my own story. I have it planned out mostly, but if I write myself into a corner I'll be very disappointed with myself.

See you at the bottom. If there's one author's note per chapter you should read, it will be that one.

Chapter Two

Several hours later found Minerva McGonagall sorting through the first few responses to the first years' Hogwarts letters. As Deputy Headmistress, she took her duty of making sure all incoming students were accounted for very seriously. She hand-delivered the letters to the new muggleborns, which gave her the opportunity to make sure the family was accepting of their child's newly explained abilities. She also read all the replies to the acceptance letters very carefully to make sure that each child, and in particular each orphan or half-blood, would be able to attend and retrieve all their school supplies. The war had created a lot of orphans, so in the last fifteen years in particular her job had been made a little more difficult.

This year however, the Hogwarts Transfiguration professor was anxiously awaiting one reply in particular. Harry Potter was due to start Hogwarts this year, and Minerva confessed herself extremely curious about the Boy Who Lived. She'd been there when Albus Dumbledore had delivered the babe to the last remaining relatives he had. She recalled being vaguely concerned about the type of upbringing he would have, but Albus had assured her that it was for the best, and who was she to argue with Albus? She hadn't thought about their young savior much since that night, but now she wondered if they had indeed done the right thing.

However, the time for wondering was over. The next letter the Deputy Headmistress picked up had Harry Potter's name messily scrawled across it, and she opened it eagerly.

She should have expected something like this, Minerva thought once she put the letter down. His aunt knew enough about the wizarding world, her own sister being a witch, and by the looks of things she'd shared none of it with her nephew. Well, Minerva decided, he was expecting a reply, but she would do him one better.

Sure enough, two weeks later found her standing on the doorstep of number four Privet Drive.

Minerva knocked, and the door soon opened to show a tall blond woman. As soon as her eyes fell on the witch in front of her, the woman's inviting smile soured. "yes?" Petunia was nothing like her sister, Minerva recalled.

"I'm looking for Harry Potter?"

Petunia called the boy in question over her shoulder, then stepped back wordlessly and ushered the older woman in.

As soon as the door shut behind the Transfiguration professor, the panicked tension in Petunia's shoulders let go a little. Hopefully the neighbors hadn't seen this strange woman calling on her perfectly normal family.

After a few moments of awkward silence, the young Potter boy descended the stairs. Upon seeing Minerva, his eyes grew wide and a dazzling smile split his face. "Minerva McGonagall?" he asked eagerly.

Inside, Harry Potter cringed. He was going to get tired of this innocent, trusting persona very quickly. He'd decided to create it after seeing the memory of Tom's not-so-smooth introduction to the Wizarding world. But he might have just ruined things, and he hadn't even made it to Hogwarts yet. He wasn't technically supposed to know the woman, but he recognized her from Tom's memories. He hadn't expected her to actually visit. He hoped she'd justify his slip-up to herself somehow.

Luckily for him, the stern woman didn't think anything was out of place. She gave him a nod and a rare smile. "You replied to the Hogwarts acceptance letter, did you not, Mr. Potter?"

At his nod, she continued, "I decided it would be easier for me to explain things to you in person. Clearly," she shot a tight-lipped glare toward Petunia, "your family has not educated you as they should have. You were aware that you are a wizard?"

"Yes ma'am," Harry said, ducking his head shyly. "I guessed, I mean. Strange things always happen around me when I get upset." He suppressed a smirk as he saw Petunia's cringe out of the corner of his eye. "I wasn't sure if this was actually real, but I figured there'd be no harm in replying, at least."

"Indeed," the professor responded. "If you are agreeable, Mr. Potter, I can take you to purchase your supplies now."

Another face-splitting grin. "Yeah, that'd be great! But … I don't have any money," he added with a frown. This was a bit of a test. Surely his parents had left him an inheritance?

Minerva explained that they had indeed left him everything, including a school fund. She then went on to explain how the Potters were a rich Pureblood family, but he wouldn't be able to touch most of the money and heirlooms until he was of age. He'd known most of this, but he hadn't known what had happened to the money after his parents' deaths.

This was news to Petunia though, Harry realized, as her eyes widened slightly. Harry regretted asking with her present. He'd have to do something much more drastic to avoid funneling the majority of his inheritance to his relatives. He'd have to use Tom's methods, he thought with a frown, but it would only be this once.

"Before you go," the professor said hesitantly, "there is something you should know. How much have you been told about your parents?"

At this, Harry flashed a look filled with hidden venom at his aunt. He turned back to the stern woman and said monotonously, "they were a pair of no-good drunks who died in a car crash."

Minerva had never been so shocked and appalled in her life. The Potters—a CAR CRASH?! "that's utterly ridiculous!" she spat immediately. She turned to Harry's aunt, who looked a mixture of indignant and guilty. Without waiting for an explanation, her wand appeared out of nowhere and suddenly a duck sat where Petunia had been standing. The words she was about to say came out as an indignant quack.

Harry struggled to keep the taken aback look on his face, but inside he was dying of laughter. Finally that no-good, lying gossip had been put in her place.

Upon seeing Potter's expression, she worked to calm herself before continuing. Her second attempt was not much more tame, however. "No, Mr. Potter, your parents certainly did not die in a car crash." She shot another look at the young savior's aunt turned duck, who still managed to look indignant. "In fact, they were two of the finest students I ever had. They were great wizards. However…" Here she launched into a haunting story of the Wizarding war that had ended abruptly with his parents' deaths and Lord Voldemort's vanquishing. She would not speak the name of that Dark Lord, however. Harry tuned her out, having first-hand knowledge of how horrible it had been. The worst part, in Harry's opinion, is that Tom hadn't accomplished much from it either. The army he'd chosen to fight had been made up of people who had inadvertently made a mess of things. It was a different mess than the Wizarding world had started off with, but it was still a mess.

"And that is why you are known as the Boy who Lived," the stern woman finally concluded.

"Professor…" Harry bit his lip. "the Dark Lord—He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named—what did you say his actual name is?" He asked this as innocently as possible, but his motives were anything but. Truthfully, Harry just wanted to see how the unflappable professor reacted in the face of undeniable power.

The duck gave another indignant quack from the floor, this time more insistent. It went ignored.

"Goodness, child!" Minerva put a hand to her heart. "We never speak his name. Not when doing so back then meant certain death."

"But he's gone now, isn't he?" Harry asked with a pleading look, wide eyes and all.

"Ye-es," Minerva hesitated. "Oh, all right," she gave in. Leaning forward slightly, she whispered, "he was called Lord V-Vol-Voldemort." She shuddered and looked all around her, as if expecting the Snatchers to suddenly appear as they had so many years ago. When nothing happened, she let out a long breath. The only thing she saw was Vernon's car pulling into the driveway. Harry suppressed a grin.

"well, I hope you're satisfied. Are you ready then, Mr. Potter?" Professor McGonagall asked, holding out a hand. Harry nodded and took a hold.

"Now, this will be somewhat disorienting. It is called apparation, and it is one of three common ways for Wizards to travel long distances. On three? One, two…"

Suddenly, there was a loud pop, and Harry was being compressed from all sides and pulled through a tube and being turned inside out and spinning—

And then it was over as quickly as it had begun, and Harry stood panting and wheezing in the aftermath.

"Welcome," the stern woman announced, "to Diagon Alley."

Author's Note:

Yes, a duck. I don't know why… it was the first thing that came to my mind, and it gave me a rather satisfying image. So there. :P

Harry calls Professor McGonagall Minerva in his mind because that's what Tom knew her as. Hopefully he doesn't call her that to her face… :P

I'm not covering the shopping, sorry. If you want to see it, you could go read just about every other similar fic out there.

I hope I'm explaining my Harry properly. We'll see more of Tom's influences in later chapters. I can't go revealing all at once now, can I? But perhaps something to think about: Tom was intelligent, studious, and ambitious. How much of this, if any, has rubbed off on Harry?


	4. Chapter Three

Author's Note:

Hey! Once again, thank you all so much for the support. I still smile every time I see a new alert for this story, so thanks for making my day. :D If you've reviewed or followed or favd and I haven't gotten back to you yet, I'm so so sorry – I must have missed a notification. They tend to slip through once in a while.

Emily, a wonderful guest reviewer, pointed out that sometimes names aren't capitalized. That's not my spell check, it's the pathetic fact that I can't manage to hit shift and the letter at the same time. Grrr I've done find and replace on all previous chapters as well as this one, so the problem should be fixed now… maybe. If I've missed something, please please inform me so I can fix it. Sorry to anyone else who got annoyed by that.

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, that book about Dumbledore would have been published when he was still alive, and we'd all have watched him squirm … enough said. :D

Chapter Three

"Harry, my boy!"

"Coming, Uncle Vernon." With a heavy sigh, Harry stood from the beat-up desk in his room and made his way slowly down the stairs. He had a pretty good guess as to what his uncle wanted. Despite his annoyance, he was pleased to note that his uncle hadn't yelled or called him down in an impolite way. Clearly some of his conditioning was getting through his uncle's thick skull. He must be finally starting to learn that yelling at Harry would only cause him problems. After all, that was what had made him upset the first time. Other notable times included Vernon or Petunia demanding him to cook or clean or tend to the garden. They left him alone for the most part now. Or perhaps, Harry considered, Vernon was just sucking up. With this thought in mind, his annoyance and frustration grew even more.

"yes, Uncle Vernon?" Harry spoke softly as he entered the living room. His uncle didn't like to be disturbed while he was watching the news. Harry decided it was best to stick to most of Vernon's rules as part of his "don't push your luck" policy, no matter how angry he got.

"Come sit," the obese man said kindly, gesturing to the couch.

At this, Harry's mouth tightened in suspicion and displeasure. He'd been thinking through some ways to dissuade his uncle from going after his inheritance. Now it was time to choose one. He stepped gingerly over to the couch and sat on the edge of the cushion. He said nothing, waiting for his uncle to continue. If he was going to use the technique of flattering Harry, perhaps he wouldn't even have to scare the man. Perhaps…

"How was your day, my boy?" Vernon could play nice, but Harry saw right down to the look of greed in the man's pig-like face.

Aha! Step one: Make Vernon crack. The Dursleys hated anything abnormal, especially magic.

Harry's face lit up. "Very good, sir. A professor from Hogwarts took me to this magic alley where I bought all my schoolbooks and potions supplies—and a real, actual wand!"

Vernon's lips tightened in displeasure, but he forced out, "very nice. When did you say you're going to that school of yours?"

"September first, sir."

Vernon grunted. "Say, weren't your parents rich?"

Ah, that had taken much less time than Harry had expected. "yes sir. They left me quite the inheritance. I could easily live my whole entire life without lifting a finger!" Harry adopted a dreamy tone and let his eyes slip out of focus behind his glasses.

"You know, they left us nothing in their will when they—er—died."

Harry pretended not to notice Vernon's stumbling over word choice for his parents' demise. "Really, sir? That's such a shame. I wish I could help, but I can't reach much of it myself."

"Come now, my boy. We've spent plenty on you. We've provided all your necessities. Surely you could pass on what little you are able to touch?" Vernon had dropped any pretense of civility. He was almost spitting the last several words in his desperation to get whatever he could.

"I would, sir, but they only left me enough to buy my school supplies. But"—Harry adopted a hopeful expression, and Vernon's face lit up as well—"maybe if you went to the bank they'd be willing to give you more; you know, as my guardians. But you'd have to be careful—it's run by goblins. Can you believe it?! Real goblins! Oh, and you'd probably have to prove that you're actually supposed to be my guardians," Harry added with a knowing glint in his eye.

This, of course, Vernon could not do. Dumbledore had placed Harry there himself and explained the situation—he'd seen it all in Petunia's mind. Plus, from the little Harry knew of his parents, they would have chosen just about anyone else before the Dursleys to take care of Harry in the event of their passing. So assuming Vernon actually wanted to jump through all those hoops to get his money (or, more likely, send someone to do it for him), he couldn't prove that he had any right to it. In fact, if things worked out right, he might even be able to figure out what had happened to his parents' suggestions. Or alternatively, he could make Vernon lose it entirely. And if that happened… suffice it to say, Harry would much prefer the former.

But the latter seemed more and more likely as time passed. Vernon's face slowly turned purple, and the veins in his neck and temples began throbbing. He was stuck, and he knew it. Harry thought fast.

"I wouldn't attack if I were you," Harry said quietly. "You didn't meet the woman who turned aunt Petunia into that lovely duck you found in your foyer, but I can call her back. Or better, I could do it myself with my new magic books and wand. How would you ever get my money if you suddenly became, say, a whale?"

With this, Vernon's temper hit an all-time high. "You dare—" But Harry breathed half a sigh of relief as he saw the man visibly try to reel it back in.

"You'd better give us something as soon as you can get at it," Vernon spat out finally. "It's the least we deserve for taking care of a freak like you for so long. Now—get out of my sight!" He yelled this last part, spittle flying from his lips to land on his bulging stomach.

Harry had to confess himself disappointed. It seemed Vernon still hadn't learned his lesson about treating Harry nicely. But if Harry pushed it now, Vernon would go over the edge. And Harry did not want to have any more of his bones broken. So without another word, he stood and retired to his room.

… … …

The next several days found Harry memorizing his new textbooks. He already knew most of the material in them from when Tom had learned it, but things had changed since he had been at Hogwarts. The last thing Harry wanted was to write or say information that was out of date.

IN studying, he found that standards had dropped in the last fifty years. Probably Dumbledore's doing, Harry thought with a sneer. His strategy against Tom's regime was clearly going well. Bring muggleborns into the world, make their transition easier on them by removing dark material from the curriculum, convince them that light equals good and dark equals evil, and voila. Instant army, instant divide between those who regurgitate what they were taught and those who were raised with the old traditions and therefore know better. It only worked because he was in such a position of power as Headmaster of Hogwarts. But if Harry had his way, things would soon go back to how they used to be.

Harry had seen evidence of this divide for himself in Diagon Alley (and wasn't that a surreal experience!). While getting his robes sized, he'd met Ronald Weasley, a child from one of the families who supported Dumbledore. He'd told Harry his entire life's story (or at least, the part that had brought him to meet the Boy-Who-Lived): he was too tall for any available hand-me-down robes. The only ones that would fit him were currently being used by his older brothers. Harry had seen this as his opportunity to get in with the right crowd for his persona, so he'd patiently listened and added commentary where necessary. It took very little of his brain power; Harry hoped the rest of Ronald's family were a little more intelligent.

Then he'd met Ron's mother whom, upon meeting him, had all but insisted that Harry could be part of their family too. As annoying as it was, at least he didn't have to try to get in their good graces. But good gods, it would be a long few years until he could finally take his place beside Tom. But until then, he'd just have to play his part.

Author's Note:

Remember that Harry is ten, almost eleven. He has intelligent thoughts, but he must speak as someone his age would. Speaking of which, this is about all we'll learn from him for a while. I've covered most of my bases, and I think I have his personality the way I want it. What do you think of my Harry so far?

I know very little about how wills and guardians and such things work. So if I'm wrong … let's just say it's a quirk of the Wizarding world, shall we?

Please note that Harry does not see Tom in a romantic way at all (at this point). He's sort of like an idol/mentor/best friend. His hormones haven't kicked in yet… :D

Next chapter they're off to Hogwarts! What will happen on the train? (Perhaps if you review with your guesses you'll give me some ideas. :D) Will Harry drop his Slytherin mask to make friends, or will he stick to his Golden Boy image? You shall find out … Tomorrow night! (Hopefully. And depending on your time zone.)


	5. Chapter Four

Author's Note:

Hey again! You know the drill: this is the paragraph where I sincerely thank all of you, even the silent readers, for your support. I still mean it. I was going to ask for more reviews soon, even if it's just one word (because one of those made my day yesterday). Then I looked at my email when I got home from work, only to see that I got double the average amount for the last chapter! Wow, guys. Seriously, wow.

I'm writing while listening to music tonight. I chose the newest albums from the Lumineers and Ray LaMontagne, and they're both seriously amazing/unique. So if you're into that kind of music, it's definitely worth checking it out.

I had to rewrite the last page and a half of this chapter because my computer froze and apparently autosave isn't a thing. :/ And that's not all I lost, but we'll not get into that now. On the bright side, I like this ending better.

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, Harry would have opened his eyes to all the manipulation around him and said, "F*** this, I'm outa here!" :D

Chapter Four

September first took forever to come. Within a week, Harry had finished reading through his textbooks and memorizing the information that had changed since Tom's time. He'd apparated back to Diagon Alley a few more times to pick up some reading material since then. He had to play the ignorant, brash, and heroic savior; that didn't mean he had to actually be these things. He'd caught himself up on current events in the Wizarding world, including the public's views on the rise and fall of Lord Voldemort and the savior and Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter. He used this information to add more depth to his persona.

When September first finally arrived, Harry apparated himself to the train station nearly an hour early. He was careful to land himself somewhere secluded so nobody would see that he'd arrived alone. He'd debated whether or not to show people that he was powerful. After all, there had been much speculation on his whereabouts, and many believed he'd been taken somewhere to train in secret. In the end, he'd decided to give his persona average intelligence. After all, Albus Dumbledore knew exactly where Harry had been, and he couldn't afford to let the old man know that his pawn refused to play along with his little games.

Platform 9 ¾ was deserted. All the better for him, Harry decided. He needed some time to get used to being constantly gawked at. He hoisted his new trunk onto the train, endlessly thankful that he'd bought one with a featherweight charm built in. He'd been reluctant to spend so much money at first, but with the help of Tom's memories, he realized that respectable behavior, belongings, and clothing brought you instant respect from purebloods. So he'd sucked it up and spent what he had to. He got the feeling he wouldn't regret it in the slightest.

Harry grabbed the first empty compartment he could find and made himself at home. He pulled out the latest edition of Hogwarts: a History for the journey. He'd saved it for the way in the hopes that its largeness would help him to go unnoticed. It probably wouldn't work, but one could hope. He opened the enormous book and was immediately lost in the history of Hogwarts, from its founding to its architecture and sentience to strange occurrences within "her" walls over the years.

The next thing he knew, the compartment door scraped open and Ronald Weasley stuck his obnoxiously orange head through the door. "Hey mate! Long time no see. How's your summer been?"

With an inaudible sigh, Harry lowered his book and invited the boy in with a smile. He was cringing on the inside.

"Ugh! Hogwarts: A History? Really, mate? You're not going to be studying all the time, are you?" Ron's face adopted a look of horror, and Harry felt his stress levels rising already.

"Sorry. It's just so interesting, you know?" Harry said enthusiastically. "I mean, we're going to a school that's in an old castle, and it's been around for almost a millennium! There's so much history—all the greatest wizards and witches went there. You know?"

Ron wasn't convinced, just as Harry expected. "If you say so." With that, the train compartment fell into silence as Harry returned to his book and Ron entertained himself with his pet rat.

There must be other good light side families to make friends with, Harry mentally begged any god who would listen. He couldn't deal with this for seven years. But he knew that Ron's family was as pro-Dumbledore as it got. Surely then, he amended his prayer, he could befriend someone who was capable of carrying on a decent conversation. Maybe there would be a muggleborn or something that he could learn to tolerate.

Harry's prayers were almost immediately answered as the door slid open again. "Has anyone seen a toad? Another first year's lost one."

Harry saw the hair first. He had to admit, it didn't make a fantastic impression on him. "No, sorry," he said borredly, and immediately lifted his book shield again.

"Ooh, is that Hogwarts: A History? I've read it so many times I practically have it memorized. I find it so fascinating that the castle is apparently sentient. I can't wait to see for myself."

Harry lowered the book in interest as Ron groaned, "not you, too!"

"Excuse me?" Bush-Hair asked indignantly.

"Ignore him," Harry suggested, then as a side thought tossed a half-grin and a shrug Ron's way to suggest that he was not being serious. "I agree," he added, turning back to Bush-Hair. But I hope the teachers will forgive us for getting lost if the halls and stairs and stuff move around like the book says."

Bush-Hair suddenly looked panicked at this thought. "I hadn't even thought of that! Surely they'd give us a little time to get used to things?" She didn't look convinced by this though. "I'm Hermione Granger, by the way," she added with a light blush.

"Harry Potter. And that's Ron Weasley," Harry pointed to his "friend", who was sulking in the corner with no intention of introducing himself.

Bush Hair's—Hermione's—eyes widened upon hearing Harry's name, and he let out a slow, silent sigh. "I've heard all about you, of course. You're in…"

At this point, Harry tuned her out. He made a point of doing so as conspicuously as possible, too. She seemed to get the hint, and quickly changed the subject. "I've tried some magic so far, and the spells seemed to work for me. I bet you two know lots of spells, being born in the Wizarding world and all," Hermione said with a wistful sigh.

Harry didn't bother correcting Hermione's assumption. It was technically correct anyway. Instead, he sat back and watched as Ron tried to impress the bushy-haired witch with a spell his brother had taught him. He pressed his lips together to avoid sneering as Ron's spell inevitably failed.

"That's not a real spell." Hermione sniffed haughtily.

Ron's ears turned red, and Harry knew in that moment that things could get ugly. "Technically it isn't," he jumped in, "but the rat twitched, which means you did channel magic through the wand. I've read that's one of the hardest things for wizards to learn to do." He would have added that at a certain point, the words to the spell didn't matter. When one used their magic, as long as they intended for something to happen it would. Spells were created for those who did not have the mental capabilities to channel their magic as was originally intended. Unfortunately, this concept was considered both advanced and dark.

The next several hours went much the same way. Harry soon realized that he'd lose his mind if he had to keep the peace between those two for the next seven years. The long journey did give him the opportunity to talk to each one individually a bit though, and in doing so he could make eye contact with each of them for long enough to scan through their minds. He was pretty sure they were as oblivious to Dumbledore's scheming as Harry was supposed to be, but he took to heart the saying about assuming.

His assumptions proved correct in the end, but his excursions into their minds had not been without their discoveries. Upon searching Ron's memories he could recognize Dumbledore's meddling influence in the date the Weasleys had chosen to go to Diagon Alley. At least they were on the same page for one thing, Harry thought. He also noted that Hermione had the perfect type of mind for a natural Occlumens. Her thoughts were already so organized, it would take comparatively less effort than it might take, say, Ron, to create a mindscape with shields, and maybe even fake memories.

The only interesting thing that happened during the train ride was a visit from the newest generation of the Malfoy family. When he opened the door, Harry was extremely startled. He looked so much like his father Lucius and grandfather Abraxas. He had the same attitude too, and Harry had to curse his luck. This was one Pureblood that the Boy-Who-Lived would not get along with under normal circumstances. So when the kid introduced himself as Draco Malfoy, insulted Ron and Hermione, and all but announced that he was looking for Harry Potter, he thought fast.

"Haven't seen him, sorry," Harry said before Ron or Hermione could speak up. Knowing Ron, he'd rather have bragged to the Malfoy brat that he'd snagged the Boy-Who-Lived first. "If you find him though, let us know." He turned away from the boy then, which was probably not a good idea. But he had to keep up his persona. Malfoy was not happy, but he left after a few more snide comments, this time aimed at Harry as well.

When the train finally arrived at Hogsmeade Station, Harry had to sigh in relief. A peacekeeper he was not. Hopefully Ron and Hermione were sorted into different houses. Perhaps the three of them wouldn't be close, but Harry could be friends with Ron and Hermione and split his time between them. He'd considered giving one of them the slip, but he'd decided against it as both of them would be important to his long-term plans.

Upon exiting the train, the first years were told to follow a giant of a man while the rest of the school population made their way toward thestral-drawn carriages. The man lead them down to the shore of a lake, where they were all instructed to climb into boats that had been docked there. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were joined by a clumsy kid who Hermione immediately recognized. "did you find your toad?" she asked him. He only shook his head in reply, looking too nervous to speak.

At the man's call, all the boats took off at once. Harry wondered where they were going (Tom hadn't done this his first year), but it didn't take him long to find out. They rounded a bend in the shoreline, and a collective gasp could be heard as all the first-years caught a glimpse of what would be their home for the next seven years.

Harry had seen the castle many times through Tom's memories, but that was nothing compared to the real thing. He stared at it for several seconds, trying to burn this image into his mind's eye. Something inside him relaxed when he saw the warm glow coming from the castle's many windows. He was finally home, finally where he belonged.

Author's Note:

As you may have noticed by now, I use general quotes from the books that I've read so many times because everyone usually just uses the original text. I don't own original copies of the series and I don't particularly feel like looking up quotes I want to use. These are my characters now, and they don't like the little boxes that I'd have to squeeze them into by quoting. So yeah.

I keep updating previous chapters. I'm glad someone told me I consistently spelled McGonagall wrong. I haven't changed the content though, so no worries.


	6. Chapter Five

Author's Note:

Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows! I'm seriously still in shock. I'm so so sorry for not thanking each and every one of you. I'm going to do it tomorrow, I promise. I got caught up in reading tonight and once I post this chapter there are still things I have to do, one of them being sleep. I can't function on five and a half hours like I've done for the last few nights. I'm actually really tired right now, so if this chapter's crappy please tell me so and I'll fix it when I'm awake.

I've had discussions with a few reviewers about Harry being too powerful and perfect. Keep in mind please that if I showed you his whole personality in the first four chapters, you could write the story for me. The reviews did make me think though, and as a result I have some new ideas for the story. Plus, this chapter is rather interesting… yeah. So thank you.

I was given the request today to read *ahem* I mean transcribe the first Harry Potter book. So hopefully I can use this opportunity to refresh myself on spelling (again) and original plot. I could also do that by looking it up online, but as I've learned over the last few days, that's apparently not a good resource, particularly when it comes to spelling Harry Potter vocabulary and names.

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I'd know under what circumstances Delphi was conceived and maybe I'd be able to sleep at night. *shudders*

Chapter Five

The boats docked at the other shore of the lake and all the first years climbed out. The large man led them to the doors of the castle. He knocked on them three times, and moments later they were opened by Minerva—or Professor McGonnigall, harry corrected himself mentally. She lead the first years to a chamber off the hall and gave them a speech about houses or something—honestly, Harry didn't care enough to listen. His mind had turned in on itself, still desperately clinging to his first sight of Hogwarts. He'd been dreaming of it and what it would mean to him for the last ten years, and now he'd finally arrived.

This ancient castle would be the first place he could ever call a home. The warmth of it filled him up and wrapped around him like a loving blanket, or the heat of a fire on a cold winter's night. He clung to that warmth with all his might, not noticing the hushed conversations that started up around him as soon as the strict professor left.

It was only when she came back to lead them into the hall that Harry's mind reluctantly turned to the present.

Next came the sorting, Harry realized. this would be Harry's toughest obstacle yet. Seeing as he had Tom's memories in his head and had adopted some of the man's ideals, it was quite likely that the Sorting Hat would suggest Slytherin. All he had to do was convince it otherwise. Surely students had a say in their sorting? It wouldn't be the end of the world if Harry was sorted into Slytherin, but it would be a lot harder for him to keep his golden Boy image intact.

The students were led down the aisle in the middle of the hall. He heard Hermione's gasp of awe as she caught sight of what appeared to be the night sky above her. She'd probably read all those facts with a healthy dose of skepticism, Harry thought with a grin. Little did she know.

Harry hid his boredom behind an intrigued mask as McGonagall brought a stool and a hat to the front of the hall. As it sang its annual song, he amused himself with watching the expressions on the faces of his fellow first years. They ranged from relief (Hermione) to disgust (Malfoy Junior) to terror (Toad-Boy). He clapped with endless enthusiasm as the hat finished with a bow to each of the four house tables.

"When I call your name," McGonagall explained, "you will come up here and put the hat on. Abbott, Hannah."

Harry watched carefully as a small blond girl bounced her way to the stool. He studied her posture and expression and memorized her face. It was always good to know the other students' names, just in case.

Name after name was called, and Harry tried valiantly to memorize each one as best he could. Hermione went to Gryffindor—Harry cringed in his mind but gave her a grin and a wink—and Malfoy Junior went to Slytherin—as if there was a doubt. His family had been in that house for generations. He'd also noted that Toad-Boy's name was Neville Longbottom. He knew he'd recognized that face from somewhere.

Finally, it was his turn.

"Potter, Harry."

The hall broke into whispers as Harry made his way to the Sorting Hat. He sat on the stool and lowered the hat over his head. Before it covered his eyes entirely, however, he caught sight of Malfoy Junior's dumfounded expression. He almost smirked—almost. Then he realized that the boy would probably confront him about ignoring him on the train at some point. Hopefully that wasn't going to be a public event, Harry thought with a sudden jolt of terror. Malfoy Junior probably had a lot of sway over the other dark purebloods. If he was Harry's enemy, they all would be too. If they could meet in a private place, perhaps Harry could explain that they were on the same side, but they couldn't act like it… in all honesty, Harry hadn't even considered how gaining the respect of the Purebloods would work out in practice.

"Indeed," said a voice in his mind. Harry reacted by violently erecting the walls to protect it. "I'm afraid that won't work," the voice spoke again. "Now, let's see. Hard-working you are, yes indeed. You could be loyal as well… but no, perhaps not. You are definitely not trusting. Those poor Hufflepuffs would be broken-hearted. Plenty of intelligence. But would you have striven for that knowledge yourself without those extra memories? Hmmm. Plans, yes many plans indeed, with the cunning to pull them off. Plenty of courage as well, I see. But, I think, not quite enough."

"No, wait!" Harry pushed his plans for the Golden Boy in the general direction of the hat's presence. "Don't I get a say? I'd fit in there, you said it yourself!"

For a long moment, there was silence. And then…

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry stood and removed the hat to much applause. With a beaming smile, he made his way toward the leftmost table of red and gold, who were all on their feet ready to welcome him. He was immediately swallowed in a mass of people, all shaking his hand or patting him on the back. He endured it as best he could.

When the excitement finally died down a full two minutes later, the sorting continued.

Harry cringed again when Ron came to Gryffindor with him. It was just his luck that he'd be stuck as the peacekeeper between his two friends for the next seven years. He'd really thought Hermione would find herself in Ravenclaw, but unfortunately—for her and for him—it was not meant to be.

When all was said and done, McGonagall removed the sorting hat and Dumbledore stood from his place at the table. Harry sneered down at his plate as Dumbledore raised his arms in welcome. He had everyone fooled with his crazy old man act. But as soon as Harry could find Tom, they'd make him pay for everything he ever did to them, he vowed silently.

He must have missed the man's speech, because the next thing he knew there was a smattering of applause and the tables suddenly groaned under enormous amounts of food. Harry helped himself to a bit of everything; he'd never seen so much food in person.

Once he started eating, Harry scanned the teachers' table, and immediately had to wipe the expression of shock off his face. More of Tom's followers had managed to get on as Hogwarts professors than Harry had ever imagined. They were still outnumbered by Dumbledore's followers, but they still had a fair showing. He didn't know the state of the rest of the Wizarding world, but if the same could be said about the ministry, it wouldn't take Tom long to make his vision of a better world into reality.

Harry's attention returned to the table, and he listened with rapt attention as an older student pointed out who taught what for the benefit of the first years. He joined conversations as they started up around him—about classes, Quidditch prospects, school clubs—but exhaustion had finally caught up to him. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open.

When all the food had vanished, Dumbledore stood again and the hall fell silent. "Now that we are all fed and watered, I'd like to give some brief start-of-term notices. First, please give a warm welcome back to Professor Quirrell, who has taken the Defense Against the Dark Arts post this year."

There was a round of applause and Percy, Ron's prefect brother, leaned over to say, "rumor has it the position's cursed by You-Know-Who. No Defense professor's lasted longer than a year." Harry had to hide his smug grin at this.

"Mr. filch would also like me to remind you that several more items have been banned this year; for a complete list, see his office door. I'd also like to inform the new first years and remind some older students"—his eyes flicked to the Gryffindor table and Ron's twin Brothers, Fred and George, grinned—that the forbidden forest is just that. Lastly, the third floor corridor is out of bounds to those who do not wish to die a painful death. And now, we shall sing the school song!"

Harry refused to sing. Surely this one small thing would not reflect badly on him, he thought. He sat in stony silence as the school sang, all in different tunes and at different times. He resisted the urge to cover his ears. When it was finally over, he sighed in relief as the benches pulled back. He was finally going to bed. Today had been a long day; the first of many similar days to come. Listlessly, he followed the other first-years up the many staircases to Gryffindor tower. He tried to make note of the information the prefects told them about the password and the notice board and house rules, but he knew he'd have to ask Hermione to repeat it for him in the morning.

Then they were directed to their dorm rooms. Upon finding his bed, Harry collapsed on the covers and fell asleep fully clothed.

Author's Note:

I really wanted to find a reason to send Hermione to Ravenclaw, but I just couldn't. Things haven't changed from cannon too much yet. As much as I wish otherwise, one train ride is not enough to convince her to change her house preference.

I don't have a copy of the books at hand, so Dumbledore's speech is improvised.

Notice how Harry is smug at the mention of Tom cursing the Defense post? Harry will explain a little more about this later, but for now I'll say this: he has the memories. He does not have the emotions attached to them, or if he does they're not nearly as strong as tom felt them back then. Harry doesn't understand that Tom's reasons for cursing the position go a little deeper than spite.

After this chapter, I find myself wondering what redeeming qualities harry has. He does have some, I'm sure of it… I just need to find the balance.


	7. Chapter Six

Author's Note:

Hey again all! I'm so sorry for missing not just one but two days of updates. I knew what I wanted to happen but I didn't want to force it. My characters weren't speaking to me. But for some reason, they decided today that they finally knew what was going on again, so here we are. (It figures, the chapter I thought would be really boring is my longest so far.) Plus, I'd reached a good splitting point. I'm hoping the next chapter will come more easily than this one, but no promises.

Thank you once again for all the reviews, favs and follows. I love that you guys give me constructive criticism as well as single words that still make me smile when I read them (you know who you are :D).

After getting a few more reviews about spelling and missing quotation marks (thank you for those, by the way), I've changed a few of my screen reader's settings to something that will hopefully serve me a little better. This should also fix 95% of the occasional capitalization issues I have. If this is still an issue, let me know.

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, this story would have been cannon! Ha!

Chapter Six

The first thing Harry saw when he woke was red. At first he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him—but no, he realized as he turned his head to take in his unfamiliar surroundings, everything he saw was colored a bright, unattractive shade of red. Where was he?

After a few moments, the events of the previous day came flooding back, and Harry's lips split into an impossibly wide grin.

He was finally at Hogwarts.

Furthermore, he had been sorted into Gryffindor.

He lay there for a while, basking in his successes so far. When finally the others began to stir, he decided to get up to start his day. He took a quick shower, then packed all the materials he could possibly need for his first day. He didn't have his schedule yet, but he didn't want to have to come all the way back to the tower once he received it. Besides, his school bag, like his trunk, had a featherweight charm on it.

Harry was halfway out the door to his dorm room when he realized that Ron was still asleep. After a silent debate on the matter, Harry walked over to the ginger's bed and shook his shoulder roughly. "Hey mate, time to get up." When no intelligible response came, Harry added with a smirk, "you've missed breakfast."

"Whaaat?" Ron sat bolt upright, stricken with panic. Harry couldn't help it: he laughed.

"Sorry, Ron, you didn't actually miss breakfast. But you will if you don't get up. See you down there." Harry grabbed his bag and left the dorm as Ron frantically searched for parts of his uniform.

Harry descended the stairs of the boys' dorms, observing the décor as he went. He was surprised he'd managed to make it to the right room last night; he was just now seeing the Gryffindor common room properly for the first time. To put it bluntly, the place was an eyesore. All the furniture was the same shade of red he'd woken to this morning. If not for the brightness of it, Harry thought, the room would actually be rather comforting. The gold accents helped make it a little less painful on the eyes, but it was still too much for Harry's tastes. He'd probably be spending most of his time in the library, or any other place he could find that was free of this much red.

Harry smiled as Hermione met him at the portrait hole. While Harry had gotten a full night's sleep, it was clear that Hermione, in contrast, hadn't slept a wink. He was concerned for a moment, then he noticed that her body was nearly vibrating with excitement. He chuckled and offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

She ducked her head with a blush as she took his arm in a light grip. Perhaps he'd been too charming, Harry thought. He was trying to behave as a pureblood would, but Hermione probably didn't see it that way. He decided to ignore the issue for as long as possible.

"Hey, could you maybe tell me what I missed last night?" Harry asked sheepishly as they descended the first staircase. "I was kinda out of it by the time we made it up to the tower."

Hermione was all too happy to do so. As she caught him up, he realized that her organized mind led to very detailed descriptions. She'd certainly be an intellectual match for him, Harry decided. He'd have to teach her at least a little of what Dumbledore had decided to cut from Hogwarts' curriculum. Hopefully she'd take to it; Tom could use someone like her, and her mind hadn't yet been tainted by Dumbledore's light propaganda.

The rest of the walk to the Great Hall was filled with conversations about topics they hadn't been able to finish with Ron in the train compartment the day before. Harry suspected he'd be best at Defense or Charms; Hermione was looking forward to Charms and Transfiguration most, though she was excited for all her classes. They were both looking forward to choosing their electives in third year. Hermione read whatever she could get her hands on and enjoyed almost every type of literature; Harry preferred nonfiction, specifically books on wars and ancient cultures.

Their easy conversation continued through breakfast. Harry saw Ron approach the table out of the corner of his eye, but he couldn't quite bring himself to pause his conversation with his new best friend. Especially, he discovered, when Ron answering Harry's questions meant he'd talk while chewing and spray food everywhere. Harry had no idea how the ginger managed to fit so much food in his mouth at once. He carefully averted his eyes from the youngest Weasley son as he focused on his own breakfast.

Not long after they'd arrived, Professor McGonagall walked down the Gryffindor table passing out the students' schedules. She gave Harry and Hermione a little smile as she gave them theirs; despite not knowing them for long, she was glad they'd both made it into her house.

The first years' schedule didn't look too bad. There weren't many frees, but there were few classes per day and long breakfasts, lunches and dinners.

"Oh no," Hermione moaned from beside Harry.

"Hmm?" He glanced up from his schedule to see Hermione rising to her feet.

"I've got to go all the way back up to the tower to get my school stuff," she looked tortured at the thought.

Harry gave a grimace in commiseration. "I should've warned you. I read about the amount of staircases, so this morning I just packed everything so I didn't have to go back up."

"But won't that be heavy to carry around all day?" Hermione looked shocked.

"Featherweight charm," Harry explained. At Hermione's blank look, Harry held out his bag for Hermione to take. She did so, looking confused, then gasped as she felt its comfortable weight despite the fact that it was bulging with the amount of textbooks and other supplies in it. "I asked for it at the bag store. It cost a bit extra, but it's worth it. No matter how much stuff I have in there, the bag will always be that weight. You could probably order one," he suggested.

"Thanks, I think I will." Hermione turned to go, then paused and turned back suspiciously. "Hey, didn't you say you weren't raised in the Wizarding world?" At Harry's nod, she continued, "then how did you know about this? I did a lot of reading, but I never saw anything like this."

Harry's body froze, but his mind worked at full speed. "The person ahead of me ordered it," he said. "I wouldn't have known about it otherwise. I think it's just one of those things you can't find in books."

Hermione looked aghast at this, but Harry was saved from further questions when the fifteen minute warning bell rang. With a little shriek, Hermione dropped Harry's bag and sprinted for the doors to the Great Hall, leaving a relieved Harry behind.

Their first class of the day was Transfiguration. Thankfully, most of the other students had left the Great Hall early, either to have more time to find the room or to go get the supplies they'd need for their first day. This meant that Harry was the last first year remaining (Ron had left not long after Hermione, looking much more relaxed than she had). With just over five minutes to spare before the start of class, Harry stood from his bench and leisurely made his way to where the Transfiguration corridor had been in Tom's time. He just hoped it hadn't moved since then.

Thankfully, he was in luck. The bell rang a mere thirty seconds after Harry had taken his seat near the middle of the room. They would be sharing this class with the Slytherins, Harry noted as he got out all the materials he might need. It appeared that several students would be late. He wondered if Professor McGonagall would be lenient for the first little while.

It turned out she was. The Transfiguration professor said nothing as Hermione arrived two minutes late, flushed and out of breath. She also said nothing when Malfoy Junior arrived just after. Though perhaps, Harry thought, the reason she said nothing was because she was in her animagus form of a cat. He'd recognized her immediately from Tom's memories, but no others had that luxury. They spent the first few minutes of class fooling around, thinking there were no adults to see them. How wrong they were.

The door finally slammed shut and locked ten minutes after the start of class. Ron had just arrived with Dean and Seamus, Harry's other two dorm mates. Immediately, everything went silent. Looking around, Harry realized that those three had been the last three expected to arrive.

He returned his attention to the front of the class as he saw Professor McGonagall turn back human out of the corner of his eye. She then gave them a lecture on how dangerous and complicated Transfiguration was, and Harry suppressed a groan. Technically this was important information, but Harry had been past this point for many years now. Sure, he hadn't tried transfiguring many things without a wand (he'd long since determined he didn't have the amount of focus needed), but he felt confident that he understood the theory behind it well enough. And it appeared that this first class would be purely theory.

The next class was Charms. Harry started to walk toward the Charms corridor, which wasn't too far away, when he realized two things: 1) the rest of the first year Gryffindors were following him; and 2) he shouldn't know the way to a classroom he'd never been in before. He paused and looked around him. He could ask an older student for the sake of appearance, but they all looked to be in a rush to get to their next class. Besides, some of them looked like they'd rather get the first years lost than help them out. So with growing annoyance, Harry shrugged for the sake of his classmates and went the wrong way. He and Hermione did most of the guesswork for determining where they should go, but Harry subtly led them in the right direction. In the end, they were only two minutes late for class.

Charms wasn't much better than Transfiguration, but Harry still had high hopes. Firstly, Professor Flitwick, a diminutive half-goblin (or so the rumors go), fell right off his stack of books with a squeak upon hearing Harry's name. Once that disturbance had been settled, they worked on the wand movements for the most simple spell for the rest of the class. First they took notes on the spell, then they drew the wand movements with arrows, then finally they were allowed to use their wands to try it. Harry was incredibly bored, but at least the class hadn't been pure theory like Transfiguration had been.

Lunch was next, and he and his friends made their slow, twisted way to the Great Hall. This time he made conversation with Ron about the extra-curricular activities offered at Hogwarts. Ron was actually an expert on this subject, as his older brothers had told him of their experiences at the school. Together, they decided they'd check most of them out and choose which ones they wanted to do together. Ron was most interested in Chess, but that was another thing Harry had long since determined he didn't have the patience for. With a burst of annoyance (an emotion he had felt too many times for his liking so far that day) he decided he'd have to play several games against Ron. During Harry's trip through his mind, he inferred that Ron would rather be friends with people he felt were his equals or worse. Unfortunately for him, not many people fit into that category. So Harry would just have to lower himself to Ron's level, and if that meant being flattened in Chess several times a week, so be it.

Halfway through lunch, there came a tap on Harry's shoulder. He looked up to see Malfoy Junior and his two bodyguards looming over him. "Potter," Malfoy Junior said neutrally, "a word… please?"

Harry nodded and stood, noting with amusement that the "please" had been rather hard for Malfoy Junior to get out. After Harry's dismissal in the train compartment the day before, he'd probably realized that the Malfoy name wouldn't be enough to impress the Boy-Who-Lived. He followed the three out of the big set of doors and into the Entrance Hall. Malfoy lead Harry into a corner, gesturing for his bodyguards to stand a few feet away.

Then Malfoy Junior turned to face Harry. For a long few moments, they stood observing each other in silence.

The blond took his time calculating the best way to approach the Boy-Who-Lived. He'd already determined that insulting Harry's friends would only result in making an enemy out of a potentially powerful ally. Meanwhile, Harry took this opportunity to slip into Malfoy Junior's mind to find out what he wanted. He was surprised to see that the kid had Occlumency shields—nothing very significant now, but it would be a different story in a few years. Too late, Harry realized that being in his mind was very risky indeed. The Pureblood was at a stage in his training where he could probably identify Harry's presence in his mind. It didn't help that Harry hadn't perfected the art of subtle Legilimency yet.

He only caught a glimpse of Malfoy Junior's surface thoughts before he was being pushed out. Upon returning to the present, he noted that Malfoy's composure had cracked to show a look of pure shock. "How did you get in my mind?" he demanded imperiously.

Harry raised his hands in supplication. "Sorry, sorry," he said hastily. "I've been … practicing. I was just trying to see why you wanted to talk to me. And it's … well, it's complicated—the answer to your question, I mean. I do want to be your friend—ally—but … Dumbledore—"

"—is not in control of your life," Malfoy cut in with a harsh frown.

"You're right," Harry agreed, "but he thinks he is. And I think I know his plans for me right now. And if I do something to ruin his Golden Boy image of me, he'll change his plans and I'll have no idea what to expect."

Malfoy was impressed despite himself. Sure Potter had invaded his privacy, but in doing so he'd shown his level of knowledge about things only purebloods learned at this age. Plus, despite the fact he was on Dumbledore's side, he wasn't one of his little sheep. "You've thought about this a lot, haven't you? Wait, how do you even know about Dumbledore?" Then his eyes widened in realization. "Wait! That must mean—"

Harry put a finger to his lips. "The walls have ears," he said in explanation. Thankfully, Malfoy had chosen a corner with no portraits, but Harry was willing to bet that they were designed to report to the Headmaster with everything they heard that was out of the ordinary. He leaned in and added, "you'll know when the game's up. And when that happens, I trust I can rely on you?"

This was one of Tom's favorite games. Show people you're worth their notice, make them feel special and important in your eyes, and they'd be loyal to you for as long as you needed them.

Sure enough, it worked. Malfoy nodded emphatically.

"Make sure you tell nobody about this," Harry added. "Oh, and until then, you hate my guts."

Malfoy looked aghast at Harry's sudden proclamation, until Harry leaned back and said coldly, "Thanks, but no thanks. I think I can choose my friends for myself." With a wink, Harry turned and stalked away.

"Fine," he heard Malfoy call haughtily from behind him, "I can tell the wrong sort, and you're definitely it, Potter."

Harry smiled to himself. He'd just found follower number one—or was it two?

Author's Note:

I don't know how Harry's schedule worked in the originals, so I'm just kind of making my own. I'm also not entirely sure when flying lessons were, so again I'm taking creative liberties. If you mind this, feel free to correct me and I'll change the order of the sections.

Let me know what you thought of the confrontation at the end there. I want Malfoy for later, and I thought it might be easier if they weren't really friends but they weren't enemies either. It would kind of be hard for them to work together if Malfoy hated even the sight of Harry.


	8. Chapter Seven

Author's Note:

Hey all! Thank you all so much for following/faving/reviewing! This is by far the most plentiful response I've gotten after posting a chapter. I feel so guilty that I wasn't able to respond to all the alerts of follows and favs that I got for this story. I only got to a couple tonight, but it's coming on midnight and I need sleep so I can actually sing in my voice exam tomorrow morning. I'll thank you all properly tomorrow, virtual pinky swear. ;)

A special thank you to jinxgreen101, my 100th follower! Wow! I never expected to make it so high so soon! I've decided that every hundredth follower/faver/reviewer will get something of their choice in some small way, whether it's a small input in my story (ex: what do you want to see at some point/in the next chapter etc.) or a small spoiler for the future. Yes, that's a hint. :D Unfortunately, jinxgreen101, your PMs are disabled. If you still want what I'm offering, let me know somehow and I'll see what I can do.

I've also decided to go on an every other day update schedule (or something like that). As much as I love writing this story, writing a chapter as well as responding to all email notifications I get takes up my whole night. Then I can't read as much as I want to. :/ This schedule will change a few times within the next month—this is by no means permanent, but it only gets worse from here, I'm afraid. Just to give you an idea, I finish my summer work placement next Friday, then I have a week off, then it's back to school for me (and this year is rather important for my future).

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, Tom would have returned in CoS or sooner. I'd also have more interesting disclaimers—better yet, I wouldn't need them at all!

Chapter Seven

Just as Harry had been expecting, the rest of his classes were no better than his first two had been. He'd been so looking forward to Defense, only to learn upon entering the class that Quirrell was a total joke. To start off, the room absolutely wreaked of garlic. When asked about it, Quirrell stuttered out something about zombies that most people tuned out before it was even half over. Then there was the fact that during that class, and only during that class, Harry's scar prickled uncomfortably. At first he ignored it, but his subconscious began working on theories as to why this happened.

Herbology would definitely get interesting later, Harry discovered. During their first class, they talked about and re-potted plants with almost no magical properties. It reminded Harry too much of doing chores for the Dursleys. Gardening had been one of the less annoying things they'd made him do when he'd still put up with it, so perhaps he'd enjoy that class more than he was expecting. It also helped that Professor Sprout was kind and encouraging to all; in other words, she was everything the Dursleys weren't.

Astronomy, on the other hand, would definitely be his least favorite class, mostly because it took place at midnight and they had a class first thing the next morning. Professor Sinistra was nice enough, and her subject was very important for those who would be interested in advanced Herbology; Potions; spell crafting; or in Harry's case, "dark" rituals.

Thankfully, History of Magic was scheduled for the mornings after astronomy. Harry and all the other first years took the opportunity to catch up on their sleep. At first, they were interested by the fact that their professor was a ghost. This class would be interesting, Harry figured, as the ghost may have been alive during some of the historical events he was teaching them about. However, the class learned quickly that Professor Binns took no notice to disruptions and he didn't care whether or not his students paid attention to his lectures. Nearly halfway through their first History of Magic class, half the students were asleep. That must be why Dumbledore kept Binns, Harry realized. He'd read so many times that new ideas built off of old ones. The history of the Wizarding world was filled with practices that Dumbledore had labelled dark, and having people actively learn about them would result in the old man's hard work coming down to nothing. Harry would just have to self-study, he decided.

Then, there was Potions. If his Golden Boy mask didn't test his patience enough, Potions would. For one, Snape hated his guts. And Harry couldn't resist back talking those who didn't respect him. For another, Snape liked to call on him a lot, hoping to prove his superiority over the first year. Harry knew all about Snape's dilemma regarding Harry, a dilemma that dated back to when he was in school with Harry's parents. Tom had seen Snape's memories of the incident, thus Harry had seen them as well. Part of Harry's Golden Boy mask was a slight lack of intelligence. So even though Harry could answer Snape's questions in his sleep, the Boy-Who-Lived could not. That is how Gryffindor house lost a great many points.

Halfway through the first week, Harry and Hermione decided to team up to work on homework. Harry didn't allow himself to do well, but he did want to at least make it look like he was putting in an effort. So Harry and Hermione met in the library every day after their last class. Each day they'd split the subjects they had homework in equally between them, and each would hunt for reference materials to use for their respective homework essays. Then they'd switch stacks of books. That way, a good portion of the prep work was done for them.

Ron originally tried to join them, but it immediately became clear that he only wanted to do so in order to copy their homework. After Hermione explained the concept of plagiarism (which Ron didn't really care about) and Harry offered up his illegibly written work, Ron gave up. The most Hermione would do for him is make a rough outline and point him to the right books. And she only did that, she told him plainly, because he was Harry's friend. At that point, Harry had to break up an argument about who was a better friend to the Boy-Who-Lived.

Since Harry and Hermione's time together was spent studying, Harry decided that, in order to keep Ron interested in him, he'd have to spend the rest of his evenings with his mandatory friend. They spent many of those evenings playing Chess, but Harry also managed to slip in some somewhat-stimulating discussions on Wizarding culture. On this subject, Ron was more of an expert than Harry and Hermione put together. Harry understood Wizarding politics, but Ron told him with a rather inflated sense of importance about things that all wizard-razed children knew. Tom hadn't been interested so much in these things, but Harry soon realized how important they were. For example, he learned some of the bedtime stories parents told their children, and in learning these he began to understand why nobody liked speaking Tom's Dark Lord name. Where once he'd found the concept rather ridiculous, he began to realize that no matter how silly it might be, nobody knew the man like Harry did. Plus, understanding how the general wizarding populous thought would help him to sway more followers to Tom's side later. It was all about using the right form of manipulation. While Tom used others' respect for his power, Harry was discovering that misconceptions about dark ideals was Tom's biggest downfall. After all, many respected Dumbledore for his power as well. Another bonus to these enlightening conversations with Ron was that the ginger's sense of superiority was satisfied without the need for Harry's to be squashed.

For the most part, Malfoy stayed away from Harry during that first week. They'd occasionally pass each other in the halls, and Malfoy would attempt a sneer in Harry's general direction. Harry was not satisfied with this in the slightest, however.

Thankfully, their rivalry was made known at the end of their second week.

On Monday, a notice was posted on the Gryffindor notice board: The first years' first flying lesson would be that Friday afternoon. Attendance was mandatory.

Harry was looking forward to it. Tom hadn't been overly interested in such things, so he wanted to try it at least once to judge for himself. Ron spent mealtimes boasting about the stunts he'd pulled on his oldest brother's ancient broom (though he certainly didn't use those words). From Harry's place at the Gryffindor table, he could see that many students from other houses, including Malfoy, were doing the same.

Hermione was a totally different matter though. Flying was her major topic of research during that week. While Harry and Ron spent evenings in the Gryffindor common room, she stayed in the library until curfew researching everything from proper broom-handling techniques to Quidditch rules.

On Friday morning, Neville received a package from his grandmother. Upon opening it, he discovered that it was a Remembrall; an expensive and fairly worthless bauble. Neville probably saw it as a gift, but Harry saw it as an insult to the shy boy's intelligence. He'd learned a bit about the Longbottom heir's childhood over the last two weeks; not a lot, but enough to know that his grandmother, in her attempts to turn him into a respectable wizard, had done more harm than good. Neville would be another good person to add to the Boy Who Lived's collection, Harry thought. But perhaps while doing so, he could help the clumsy boy find his inner grace. If he was successful, he'd have the alliance and sway of a powerful light family on Tom's side when he managed to return.

Upon seeing the Remembrall, Malfoy's face gained a nasty sneer. Yes, Harry thought. Now if only that expression could be directed at the Boy-Who-Lived. But how?

Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), McGonagall stopped the confrontation between Neville and Malfoy before it could begin. However, the case of the bauble was by no means closed.

That afternoon found the first year Gryffindors and Slytherins lined up in two rows on the Quidditch pitch, each matched to a school broom that had seen better days. Madame Hooch, the flying instructor, turned out to be like Professor McGonagall: strict, but willing to offer praise to those who followed her instructions.

"Put your right hand over your broom and say "up"," she instructed them.

Harry was successful on his first try, but he was one of the only ones. Perhaps, he theorized, it was because he had very little trepidation at the thought of flying. After all, Hermione and Neville were not having much luck with the first step, and they both looked incredibly skeptical of their abilities in this subject.

Next they all mounted their brooms, and the flying instructor came around correcting each of them on their grip. When the older woman told Malfoy that he'd been doing it wrong for years, Harry flashed a smug grin in the blonde's direction, making him flush in embarrassment. Good, Harry thought. Now all he had to do was draw it out.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you will all push off from the ground, then lean slightly forward and come back down again," Madame Hooch instructed.

One glance at Neville's face told Harry that something would go wrong. But before he could offer a word of reassurance to the unbearably nervous boy, he'd shot into the air, then upon realizing this, let go of his broom and plummeted back to earth.

Madame Hooch took him to the hospital wing for his broken wrist, but neither of them realized that the boy's newest gift had been left behind on the pitch, having fallen out of his pocket when he'd tumbled from the broomstick.

Malfoy was the first to spot the Remembrall in the grass. He strutted over to it, picked it up, and examined it with an assessing eye. "I think I'll keep this," he finally declared, flashing a self-satisfied grin.

Yes, this was Harry's chance. "Give it here, Malfoy," he said quietly. At Harry's words, the remaining first years went silent.

Malfoy looked up, startled, and took a half-step in Harry's direction. Harry's glare stopped him in his tracks. He looked directly into Malfoy Junior's eyes and, through a potentially powerful stab of Legilimency, sent the message, "FIGHT ME!" At this, Malfoy winced hard, just managing to resist the urge to grab his head in pain.

"N-no, I don't think I will," he replied finally. Harry was horrified and angered until the blond added, "if you want it, you'll have to come get it." And with that, he mounted his broom and shot into the air as Neville had done minutes before. Malfoy's ascent, however, was much more graceful than the other boy's had been.

In response to the challenge, Harry immediately grabbed for his broom.

"No, Harry! You'll get in trouble!" Hermione said frantically from her place a few brooms away.

"It's worth it," he said firmly, then before she could protest he too was in the air.

For a moment, Tom's mistrust of broomsticks filled Harry's mind, and the old school broom vibrated unsteadily under him in response. It was only when Harry realized this and brought his mind back to the present that his ascent became more smooth. Suddenly, he realized how much Tom had been missing out on. Clearly the memories Harry had of this were tainted by Tom's opinion; his memories of flying had never felt so freeing. Harry's lips spread into a wide grin as, for the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, he felt none of the stress of living up to everyone's standards.

After a few moments of basking in his relaxation, Harry remembered what he was doing up here in the first place. His eyes immediately locked on Malfoy, who'd flown to the top of a nearby tree and was hovering uncertainly over a high branch. Harry looked down—they were too high to be overheard conversing. He flew straight for Malfoy, who just barely moved out of the way in time, looking incredibly shocked.

"We, are, enemies," Harry hissed furiously. "Act like it. Now!"

With barely a thought, Malfoy tossed the little glass ball high into the sky. Harry's eyes widened in shock. His classmates far below would never let him hear the end of it if he couldn't catch it before it hit the ground. If he let it break, the image of an infallible hero would gain its first crack. So with a determined expression, Harry maneuvered his broom's handle into a steep dive towards the earth. It would be a very close call, he realized with growing horror. Hopefully he wouldn't crash and break the broom. At least if he caught the Remembrall he'd look good in the eyes of his classmates. If he broke the school's broom, there'd be no hiding it (the broken broom or his broken pride), and who knew what would happen to him when Madame Hooch found out.

The ground grew ever closer—fifteen feet, ten, five, three, one—

Harry's toes hit the ground hard. His fingers grasped still harder around Neville's Remembrall. For a moment, he felt extremely triumphant. Maybe he'd found something others would admire him for because of his talents, as opposed to the fluke that was his survival of Lord Voldemort's killing curse. Besides, flying didn't have to be outside the realm of talents the Boy-Who-Lived could have. He'd just have to adjust a little.

His triumph was short-lived, however. It ended at the sight of Professor McGonagall's irate, horrified face as she strode across the pitch towards him.

Author's Note:

Right, guys. So next chapter and the few following is where things start to get interesting. I'm looking forward to starting the major ripples in the timeline and showing how Harry acts under pressure (which is something I'm still working on the logistics of).


	9. Chapter Eight

Author's Note:

Thank you all so much for your follows, favs, and reviews. I replied to every one that popped up in my inbox, so I'm very sorry if I missed you somehow. You're all so awesome, you don't even know.

This isn't the longest chapter I've written for this story (I think), but it's definitely the most interesting in my opinion. Let me know what you think.

I received two very interesting guest reviews. One had absolutely nothing to do with my story but seemed to imply that my Voldemort was a good guy and therefore my story was garbage. I never said Voldemort would be a good guy here. In fact, I really don't support his actions … you'll see. The other reviewer commented on how unoriginal my story is. I know this. There are only so many ways this type of story can go, and almost all types have already been written. I never promised this would be totally original. I only said I have interesting ideas for later. I went into this knowing this and not caring. I'm writing something I'd like to read, and if that's not totally original, so be it. (I'm also wondering how the anonymous reviewer managed to make it all the way to the end before commenting.) Just in case anyone else was wondering these same things, those are my answers.

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, we would have watched Umbridge die a horrible death caused by half-breeds. (Please excuse my slightly violent streak right now. I'm having fun; that's all that matters.)

Chapter Eight

Harry followed McGonagall back up to the school in silence. She lead him down hallways and through doors and tapestries. He was composed on the outside, but his mind was on a frantic race. What would happen to him?

The possibility of his expulsion existed, small though it was. He'd hate to have to rely on Dumbledore to stay at Hogwarts, but he would if it came down to it. However, it was very likely that the Headmaster would overlook this for the sake of keeping the Boy-Who-Lived close so he could better guide and watch over him. But just because expulsion was out of the question, that didn't mean Harry would get off without punishment. No, he'd probably be stuck in detention for the rest of his life, he thought miserably. Why not? Then Dumbledore would know where his precious savior was at all times.

But McGonagall didn't seem to be leading Harry to the Headmaster's office. In fact, they had just entered the Charms corridor. Harry allowed a small bubble of hope to blossom in his chest as she knocked on a door, then poked her head in. "May I borrow Wood for a moment?"

At this, Harry's heart leapt. If she was looking for Gryffindor's Quidditch captain, chances are he wouldn't be punished, but instead rewarded for his little stunt.

Sure enough, upon finding an empty classroom, McGonagall and Wood worked out Harry's position as Seeker on Gryffindor's Quidditch team. McGonagall liked him more than he'd thought, Harry realized. After all, when it came to school rules she was the strictest teacher at Hogwarts (except for Snape, perhaps, but he only followed rules when admonishing Harry).

… … …

Malfoy looked absolutely terrified when Harry saw him at dinner that night. Between telling his friends about his "punishment" in a low whisper, he made eye contact with the blond and gestured subtly towards the doors to the Great Hall.

Harry hung back at the Gryffindor table when the meal was over, telling Ron that he'd be up to the common room in a moment; he just had to check something with McGonagall. Ron shrugged and left, calling over his shoulder that he'd be in the common room. Hermione had already left for the library, having already understood that the evening was Ron's time with Harry.

After Ron vanished up the first staircase, Harry made his way to the corner of the Entrance Hall where he'd first talked with Malfoy.

The Slytherin was already waiting there when Harry arrived, and he was alone. He still looked terrified, he noted. Perhaps Malfoy Junior had been more serious about that offer of friendship than Harry had thought. Or maybe the blond was just terrified of him, he thought with a grin.

"I didn't get expelled," Harry said as soon as he was within earshot of his public enemy.

Immediately, Malfoy relaxed. Harry let him be for a moment. Then, pressing his lips in a tight line, he added, "but I'm not happy with you. At all."

Immediately, Malfoy's tension returned.

"You have got to learn to act," Harry added harshly. "I don't think you understand how serious this is. I understand that you're just trying to help, but you're actually making it worse. What do you think Dumbledore will do when he sees you being friendly with me?" After a moment's hesitation, he added, "you don't know. And neither do I. But whatever he'd do, it would significantly decrease the chances of me safely and discretely joining our lord when he returns. Would you like to be the one to tell him that your actions are responsible for the only person he couldn't kill teaming up with his enemy?"

If possible, Malfoy's face went even paler. "I-I-I'm sorry, I wasn't thi—"

"No, you weren't," Harry cut across him in a deadly calm voice. "But you will now, won't you?"

Malfoy nodded vigorously. In that moment, he thought, Harry had no idea how much he resembled the Dark Lord. His father had shown him pensieve memories of the man so he'd be prepared for the inevitable day when he would return. Malfoy had been terrified just watching them, but it was nothing compared to his terror now. When Harry spoke in anger, his focus was fixed entirely on Malfoy. It made him feel exposed, like the boy knew all that he was and could be and was judging him for it in that instant and finding him lacking.

Then it was over. Harry turned without another word and crossed the Entrance Hall to ascend the staircase. Behind him, Malfoy slumped in the corner where he'd been left, as if Harry and his unnerving gaze had been the puppeteer, and he'd just cut the strings.

… … …

After the first week, Ron had caught onto Harry's unspoken schedule of studying with Hermione, going to dinner, then spending time with Ron and doing whatever caught their fancy on that particular evening. This schedule was disrupted by the Quidditch practices that took place a few times a week, but the three friends were quick to adapt.

Before they knew it, it was the end of October. Harry woke on Hallowe'en morning to the smell of candy and cooking pumpkin.

That day, Flitwick finally allowed them to attempt the Levitation Charm. They'd been working on it on and off for the last two months, and the professor was confident that they could all perform it if they put their minds to it.

Unfortunately, he hadn't taken Ron and Hermione into account.

Without Harry and Hermione to guide him, Ron had done very little of his homework. As such, he hadn't perfected the pronunciation and wand movement as nearly everyone else had. And as he tried to perform the charm, Hermione had to make a comment. "You're doing it all wrong. It's—oh, just watch me." She rolled up her sleeves, picked up her wand, and cleared her throat. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Ron glared as, on her first try, the feather floated gently into the air. He glared even harder when Flitwick was delighted by her success, awarding five points to Gryffindor.

Harry watched it all play out from across the room. As soon as the diminutive professor had paired those two together, Harry knew that something was bound to go wrong. Ron was biding his time, Harry knew. As much as the ginger wanted to tell Hermione off, he didn't want to do it in front of Flitwick and get in trouble.

Sure enough, as soon as they left the room—

"Did you see that, Harry?" Ron said loudly. "She's mental! How you can stand her is beyond me. She didn't even let me try properly."

"Honestly, Ronald, you would have been successful if you'd done your homework like Harry and I," Hermione huffed, brushing past the ginger. Her eyes flicked to Harry looking for confirmation, but he just shook his head as if to say, "let it go."

But the damage was done. "You only focus on your homework so much because you have no friends," Ron spat back. "I bet Harry's just using you so he can do well in class." He shot a look in Harry's direction as if to ask for support, and Harry cringed away. He knew this would happen eventually, Harry thought furiously. It was only a matter of time until he was stuck in the middle of one of their fights. Until now he'd been able to break them up if they were serious or let them have at it if they weren't.

Before Harry had the chance to do his usual damage control, Hermione picked up her pace and was immediately lost in the crowd.

… … …

Hermione was not in the rest of her classes that day. He was concerned on the outside, but inside he was mentally strangling his mandatory friend and kicking himself. Ron had ruined the only decent friendship Harry had. And Harry had let him.

Fortunately though, Harry knew where Hermione was—Lavender Brown had told him she was in the girls' washroom on the second floor and refused to come out. If he still didn't see her at the Hallowe'en feast, he'd check on her on the way back up to the common room, he decided.

Unfortunately, this did not happen the way Harry was hoping. And this is why:

"Troll—Troll in the dungeons. Thought you ought to know." And Quirrell, their ever-so-brave Defense Professor, fell into a dead faint in front of the staff table, leaving the Hallowe'en Feast in chaos.

Dumbledore gave the order for prefects to lead their houses to the common areas, but Harry's mind was focused on something else. "Hermione," Harry gasped, looking at Ron with wide eyes.

"So? What about her?"

Harry seethed at Ron's nonchalant attitude. "So, she doesn't know about the troll, idiot," he snarled. "She's crying in the bathroom right now thanks to you." Harry felt better when guilt flashed across the ginger's face.

When Ron made to follow Harry out of the group of first years, Harry was astonished. Upon seeing Harry's flabbergasted expression, Ron just shrugged. "It was my fault," he said uncomfortably. I should at least go tell her with you."

So off they went.

In all the chaos, it was easier than expected to sneak away from the others. At one point they had to hide behind a tapestry to avoid the Ravenclaws, but once they were gone the two boys were free to sprint to the girls' bathroom as fast as their legs could take them.

They had two corridors to go when a horrible smell hit Harry. He immediately covered his mouth and nose, but the smell of sweat, mold and decay wouldn't go away that easily. They slowed to a cautious walk, and Harry peaked around the corner into the corridor that held the girls' bathroom.

Looks like the troll made its way out of the dungeons, was Harry's only thought. The twelve-foot-tall creature was making its slow, clumsy way down the corridor towards them, dragging a club behind it as it came.

In that moment, Ron called Hermione's name. Harry could only watch on, helpless to the events that were about to play out. The ginger had just gotten the troll's attention, and its sight was now focused on them. However, in the next moment, Hermione called out from within the bathroom, and the twelve-foot-tall creature turned once again.

As the troll stomped heavily through the bathroom door, Harry froze in panic.

Tom's memories hadn't prepared him for this. The Dark Lord had faced many a dangerous situation, but Harry had watched as he'd dealt with the issue in a calm, efficient manner. Why had Harry thought he could do the same? He'd never been able to feel Tom's emotions during the memories. Was this debilitating panic normal? He had no idea. Worse, he had no idea how to break out of it. His brain was sending desperate signals to his body to move. He had to get closer—he couldn't do anything to help from here. But no matter how hard he tried, his body remained as immobile as the suits of armor lining the corridor.

It was only Ron's slap across the face that snapped Harry out of it. The adrenaline had built and built, and as soon as Harry had control of his body, it all burst from him at once. Before Ron knew what had happened, Harry was gone—down the hall, through the bathroom door, around the troll, and towards the corner where Hermione was huddled in terror. He positioned his body in front of her like a shield.

Thankfully, Ron caught up fast. "Hey idiot!" he yelled from the bathroom door. The troll's attention turned to the ginger, who ducked out of sight.

Now Harry's mind was working on overdrive. He'd thought he'd have a lot of time to practice spells that he knew in theory thanks to Tom. But it appeared time had run out. So he performed the only spell he knew. "Wingardium Leviosa!" He shouted desperately. Then, acting purely on instinct, he pointed his wand at the troll's club and sent the larger end bashing into its head over and over.

Upon consulting Tom's memories later that night, he'd learn that he'd just used an advanced version of the Levitation Charm that wasn't usually taught until sixth year. But in that moment, as the troll collapsed to the ground, Harry could only be grateful that Ron hadn't explicitly seen his little improvisation. Hermione probably had, but he could deal with her later.

"My goodness!" A female voice gasped at the door.

Harry looked up in terror. How much had she seen.

But McGonagall wasn't looking at just Harry—she was looking at all three of them. And her expression was shifting between cold shock and steaming anger. And she wasn't alone—Snape and Quirrell stood behind her, the former sharing her displeasure and the latter looking faint again.

Harry's first reaction was relief.

His second was a renewed sense of terror, though this one did not freeze his limbs in the same way. He hadn't been expelled the first time he'd broken the rules, but he definitely would be now.

"Why aren't you in your common room?" she demanded.

"Professor—I—we—" Harry stammered.

"It was my fault, Professor McGonagall."

Harry whipped around, startled at the voice from behind him. It was Hermione. He struggled to keep the shock from showing on his face.

"I read all about trolls," she continued miserably, "so when I heard about it, I thought I could deal with it myself." She lowered her head.

"That was very, very foolish, Ms. Granger. It is difficult for a fully-trained wizard to deal with a mountain troll, let alone a first year! I am very disappointed. I expected better of you. I will have to take ten points from Gryffindor for this."

Hermione's head dropped farther.

"However, somehow you three did deal with the situation," McGonagall continued. "And for that, you will each be awarded ten points."

It was only in that moment that Harry saw Ron standing beside the Transfiguration professor looking pleased with himself. Harry felt the same. These were some of the first points he'd earned for his house. Sure, the professors should have been here first and dealt with the troll by themselves. Harry shouldn't have had any hand in its death. But he had, and they'd been too late. But thanks to this situation, he was beginning to realize that he wasn't nearly as ready to join Tom as he'd thought. Thankfully he'd realized it before it was too late.


	10. Chapter Nine

Author's Note:

Hey everyone! Thank you all once again for all the reviews, favs and follows. You made my day, as usual. I hope I'm not sounding like a broken record here, because every time I say it I still mean it from the bottom of my (black, shriveled) heart.

Sorry about missing yesterday's update. I was out of province—I forgot to say something about it on Thursday's update. Because it's easier for me, my update schedule has now officially changed to Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays.

One of my lovely readers asked who was in the Slash pairing. I can't believe I missed that in the summary. I'm so sorry, guys. It's fixed now if you're curious. ;) I hope none of you are disappointed, and no, I won't change my mind on it. It's this or nothing.

A few of you were hoping for changes in the timeline/events. They start here. They're only small, but that's how it always starts. ;) I didn't want to change anything earlier than this because, like with Hermione's sorting, I didn't want things to change for no reason. Since I couldn't find a reason to make the troll incident happen differently, it didn't.

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, the entire story would have taken place in a country I was more familiar with…

(Recall that at the end of the last chapter, Harry realized that his skills with magic and reacting in stressful situations are nowhere near the level he thought they were, and if Tom were to return before Harry had improved himself, he would be very disappointed.)

Chapter Nine

With this new realization, Harry started to re-think everything. He was barely aware of walking all the way up to the common room, had no recollection of speaking the password to the Fat Lady, and didn't even notice the Hallowe'en feast that was still in full-swing. He ascended the stairs to his dorm and fell onto his bed, pulling the curtains shut. All the while, he was reconsidering every action he'd performed in the last two months.

He'd thought he had everything under control, but did he really? After all, he hadn't even realized that his own skills were severely lacking. Sure, he was doing as he hoped to in his classes (that is, passing in decent work and with a good grasp on the spells, but nothing too noteworthy), but had he let his mask slip? Had he accidentally said something he shouldn't have? Had he learned to perform a spell too quickly?

Then there was the matter of his friends. Sure, it was easier to pretend to be friends with Ron when he was actually enjoying their conversations, but had he at any point given the ginger the idea that he was not as valued as he might think? Had he disregarded the Weasley in a way that a true friend wouldn't have? There was no telling for sure, and Harry was too panicked and horrified by this possibility that he didn't dare check. Surely if he had, his mandatory friend had forgiven him by now.

Then there was the fact that everyone was expecting him to be their savior. But how could he show them he was brave as his house suggested when he froze up upon seeing a mountain troll? At what point would they all realize that he was a fake and abandon him? Then where would he be? What would he have to offer Tom? He'd have no followers, no skill with magic…

No. That would never happen, if he had anything to say about it. With a sudden burst of clarity and energy, Harry came to a realization: he couldn't change the past, but he could change the future. From now on, he'd be extra vigilant and he'd practice his spell work as often as he could. He even knew the perfect place to do it.

… … …

Unfortunately, "as often as he could" turned out to be less often than he'd hoped. The main obstacle was his friends. They'd established a schedule for spending time with Harry which left him virtually no alone time. If he was always expected to be with one of them, when would he have the opportunity to go off on his own?

Surprisingly, he got his answer the next evening. He'd landed too hard and twisted his ankle in Quidditch practice, and the Weasley twins had helped him up to the Hospital Wing. As he was entering, he spotted a frantic seventh year Ravenclaw speaking to the Mediwitch, Madame Pomphrey. "—been studying so hard already, and I still have to do classes, and—and—please can I have one or two… or three Invigoration Drafts? Please?"

The concept of Invigoration Drafts stuck in Harry's mind as the Mediwitch dealt with the frantic student, then fixed Harry's ankle with a scolding and a huffy rant on how rough Quidditch could get.

It was only when Harry was lying in bed that night that the idea took full form in his mind. If he could make himself some invigoration drafts, he could get up much earlier than his dorm mates, practice his magic, then go to classes with no one the wiser with the help of a little energy boost. He flicked through Tom's memories to make sure this was a feasible idea. It was a fifth year spell, Harry learned. It didn't look too difficult to make, but then again, Tom made everything look easy. He'd owl order some, but Dumbledore would be suspicious if he found out, so that was out. He'd just have to try making it himself then. The draft was also addictive, Harry learned. He'd just have to make sure to not take it on a regular basis and try instead to sleep as much as he could during the night. Other than these two obstacles, his plan should be fool-proof. His dorm mates were heavy sleepers—they'd never find out. As long as he could avoid patrolling teachers, all would be well.

With this finally concluded, Harry began the process of sorting his memories from the last two days. After the incident the night before, his mind had been in too much turmoil, and he'd fallen asleep having forgotten to sort the newest memories and place them behind his Occlumency shields.

As he sorted the memories, he re-watched them, purely to make sure he hadn't let his mask slip too much since he'd last sorted his memories. He didn't find too much in the way of slipping masks, but what he did find was much more curious.

He watched the memory of the previous night a couple times, specifically the aftermath of the troll incident, just to make sure he was actually seeing what he thought. He hadn't been paying particular attention to Quirrell in those moments—the wrath of Professor McGonagall was much more pressing—but in reviewing the memory, he could clearly see the uncharacteristically calculating look on the Defense professor's face. When he first entered the bathroom he'd appeared quite faint. But as the Transfiguration professor was dealing out punishments, Quirrell had been examining the troll's head where the club had hit it several times. With a sudden spike of horror, Harry realized—McGonagall hadn't recognized how advanced Harry's version of the Levitation Charm had been, but Quirrell had. In fact, he'd almost been admiring it. So Harry would have to do damage control, he realized. He'd speak to the man tomorrow.

And with that, Harry drifted off to an uneasy sleep filled with shadows that disappeared the moment he tried to identify their forms.

… … …

The silence of the lazy Saturday afternoon was shattered by three sharp taps.

"C-c-come in," a voice called from the other side of the door.

Harry stood in the doorway, smiling nervously at Quirrell. "These are your office hours, sir?" he asked. At the professor's jerky nod, Harry continues, "I wanted to talk to you… about—about Thursday night, and the… erm… the troll incident"

"Of c-c-course, Mr. P-Potter," the professor replied. "H-how c-can I h-help you?"

"Well, it's…" Harry sighed then, a large, resigned sigh. "I wanted to know… what makes Dark Magic… well… dark?"

At this, a sudden alertness entered the professor's eye. "Why do you ask?"

"Well… I… when we took out that troll, it was like I felt something… come over me. And I don't want to get into something illegal. So I want to know if that was Dark Magic and how to… well, how to not use it."

"From what I can tell, Mr. Potter, it was an advanced version of the Levitation Charm, nothing more. You needn't worry about the authorities considering it to be dark."

"But—sir, what makes magic dark in general? I mean, I have no idea how I did that. What if I do Dark Magic by accident? Like I said, I didn't even know what I did there until it was done." Quirrell looked intrigued at this; Harry ignored him. "So what if I cast a dark spell?" He looked frightened at the thought.

"Dark Magic is not necessarily evil," Quirrell said ponderingly. "Not all Dark Magic is banned precisely because some of it cannot be harmful. For example, some healing spells are Dark Magic. Similarly, there is some Light Magic that has been banned because it is harmful. However, the definitions of Dark and Light Magic have been rewritten in the last several years by the Ministry, based on what is banned and what is still allowed."

With this, Harry was intrigued. "So you're saying that Dark and Light Magic are essentially the same?"

"yes and no," Quirrell tapped his chin with his fingertips for a moment, looking for the best way to phrase his thoughts. Finally, he said, "the most basic explanation is that Dark Magic is sentient. It is pulled directly from the Earth itself. It is created naturally, but it has been left to build up for hundreds of years. So when it is let out, it is like an eager puppy. After it has—stretched its legs, shall we call it—it is eager to do the caster's bidding as long as the caster treats it well and is strong enough to control it. So, Mr. Potter, if you are strong enough to control it, it will do as you desire. As long as you do not wish harm on someone, Dark Magic will not be used for evil purposes. And I would wager a guess that you are magically strong enough to handle quite a bit of Dark Magic, Mr. Potter."

"Wow! Thanks!" If Harry was intrigued before, he was positively fascinated now. "So then what about Light Magic? Where does it come from?"

"Firstly, I should explain that Dark Magic, in all its eagerness, leaves a residue behind. This, combined with a witch or wizard's magical signature, makes it easy to track. However, that residue is recycled and reused in many ways. It powers wards, for one, and helps magical plants to grow. Those less informed call it Ambient Magic. However, this residue is also reused in the form of Light Magic. As it is only a remnant of the original spell, it is no longer sentient; therefore, it is much easier for a caster to bend it to his or her will. So you see, our world needs both kinds of magic to function optimally. Magic should never be wasted, nor should it be exhausted from one place."

"Wow! That's amazing! So then—" But before Harry could ask his question, a timid knock sounded on the door.

Quirrell's demeanor shifted in less than a second, leaving Harry with whiplash. "Y-yes? Wh-who is it?"

The door opened to show a fifth year Hufflepuff carrying a giant stack of books. "I had a couple questions," she said, "but I can wait."

"N-not to worry," Quirrell managed, "w-w-we were almost d-d-done h-here, anyway."

"Can we finish that conversation later, professor?" Harry asked eagerly. When the Defense Professor looked frightened enough that Harry thought he'd say no, Harry added, "I'll be back next Saturday at the same time. Thank you so much, Professor Quirrell. You were a great help." And with one last warm smile, Harry backed out of the door.

After rounding the first corner on his way back to the Gryffindor common room, Harry allowed a small smirk to cross his lips. He'd known all that information, of course. He'd merely decided to see if that shrewd, intelligent light would re-enter the professor's eye when discussing Dark Magic. After all, that's what had triggered it two days before. Because as much as everyone liked to pretend otherwise, both the beginners' and advanced Levitation Charms were dark magic. The former took very little power, so almost any first year could control it. Plus, it could only lift up to thirty pounds at once, and it could not make things move fast, so all those who attempted it would be safe for the most part. However, the latter, the version that Harry had performed, took much more power and raw intent to make the object being levitated move exactly where and how quickly the caster intended.

However, one thing bothered Harry about that conversation with Quirrell. As soon as that spark of enthusiasm re-entered his eyes, the man's demeanor became very familiar. But no matter how Harry thought on it for the rest of that day, he just couldn't put his finger on where he'd seen it before.

… … …

That Friday afternoon was Harry's first Quidditch match. For once, Harry's Boy-Who-Lived persona and Harry himself were feeling the same nervousness for the same reasons. Thankfully, Fred and George were there to lighten the heavy, tense atmosphere by taking over Wood's before-game speech.

However, the nervousness returned to the team as they entered the Quidditch stadium to loud cheers from ¾ of the school. Despite the biting November winds, Harry's hands grew sweaty on the handle of his Nimbus Two Thousand, a gift from McGonagall upon joining the team.

The Team Captains shook hands, the balls were released, and the players took off. As soon as Harry was in the air, all his nerves took a backseat to the exhilaration he always felt when flying, the feeling that he'd been released from all his duties on the ground. After a few laps of the pitch, he took his place high above the game and out of the action.

He heard the commentary in the corner of his mind as he calmly searched for the Snitch. The Slytherins were playing dirty, it seemed, and the Gryffindors were stepping it up in response. He had to dodge incoming Bludgers a couple of times, but Fred and George were always there in an instant to redirect the deadly iron balls.

About fifteen minutes in, Harry caught sight of the Snitch hovering thirty or so feet down and in front of him. A quick look around showed the other Seeker trying to get in the way of the Gryffindor Chasers' play. This was a strategy Wood wanted to teach Harry in the near future. He would have been down there if he knew what he was doing, but in this instant he was glad he didn't yet know the techniques necessary to pull it off. Out of nowhere, he tipped his broom on a sharp angle down towards the elusive golden ball.

He caught the Snitch in a firm grasp even before the Nimbus Two Thousand had hit full speed, and just like that, the game was over.

Author's Note:

So, what do you think of my magic system? XD I've heard many explanations, but I don't know if I've heard this one in its entirety before. If you have, let me know. I tend to borrow things from people, then forget where they came from…

Any guesses why Quirrell's demeanor is familiar? :P (That was a joke. Sorry.)

Notice the lack of tampering with Harry's broom? I wonder why? (This time I actually do know the answer. :P) Here starts the trust of Quirrell and a lack of distrusting Snape. Where this goes we shall see (the "we" also includes me, because honestly, my characters are the ones driving here). Harry knows the story behind Snape thanks to Tom's memories, but could the Boy-Who-Lived see past his bullying ways to request help from him if an emergency situation came up? Would Snape even help him if he did ask? Is this a spoiler or is it just a theoretical question?

My chapters have definitely lengthened. I just have so much I want to fit in, and then I reach a certain point and decide that's more than enough. I like the length they are now. What do you guys think?


	11. Chapter Ten

Author's Note:

Hey! Thank you all so much for your reviews, favs, and follows! I've replied to all reviews, but not favs or follows yet. Sorry. It's late, I'm tired. I'll do it tomorrow though, I promise. I always try my best to reply, but some of you have your PM feature turned off and some alerts I don't receive for some reason, so I'm very sorry if I missed you. I also found one in my junk mail. Thankfully I'd already PM'd that person for another alert, but still…

Do you have any idea how happy I am right now? After several evenings of trying, I finally finally figured out how to get those pairing bracket thingies to work! It was easy, actually, once I figured it out… but shhh, don't tell my past self that. :P

Sorry, you're in for a bit more of an info dump on my magic system this chapter. I promise, this is all you need to know about it for now, so not much more will be covered on this subject until much later, like maybe second or third year.

There is one review reply I'll do here, as it was posted by a guest and I really wanted to say:

Merci beaucoup pour votre message. C'est bon que vous aimez mon petit histoire. Voici votre chapitre. ;) (Je suis désolée que je n'écris pas le français aussi bien que vous. J'ai essayé. :D)

Surprisingly, I didn't use Google translate once. (That's a first for me.)

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I could have bought a new FitBit instead of trying to get them to send me a replacement for the one that's falling apart. *sigh*

Chapter Ten

Gryffindor's celebrations over the results of the Quidditch match went on into the early hours of the morning. Harry tried several times to slip off—he had a headache—but he was always dragged back. However, he soon realized that late nights meant late mornings. Assuming he could get some sleep himself, early Saturday morning would be a perfect time for him to slip out of the dorm and try his hand at the Invigoration Draft.

With this in mind, Harry set an alarm with his wand when they finally let him go to sleep. He groaned when it went off at 7:00 AM, but he got up anyway, being as quiet as possible so as not to wake his roommates. Having attempted a Shrinking Charm, Harry silently departed the dorm with shrunken potions ingredients and instructions in tow. This was risky, he knew—he had no idea how easily Dumbledore could learn of his early morning activities—but what choice did he have? He'd considered trying the Disillusionment Charm as well, but he'd have no explanation for who had cast it on him if he got caught.

He found an abandoned classroom on the fourth floor and, after attempting to search for any spying spells and putting up protective and silencing wards (the quality of which he felt was severely lacking despite his practice), he got to work.

The potion was more complicated than anything he'd done before, but peace and quiet and having Tom's memories of making it helped keep him on track. An hour's hard work finally provided him the result of a cauldron full of almost perfectly made Invigoration Draft. With a victorious grin, he ladled all of it into three weeks' worth of vials before packing up his materials. When he left the room, no trace remained that he'd ever been there.

… … …

Later that afternoon found Harry knocking on Professor Quirrell's door. The stuttering professor invited him in as he had exactly one week before.

Upon entering the room, Harry immediately began to watch Quirrell very carefully. It was only for this reason that he was able to observe the entire process of the change. As soon as he caught sight of harry, the man's posture straightened with confidence and a spark of amused intelligence appeared in his eyes. It was just so familiar! Harry hadn't seen this change come over the man at any other time in the last week, but it had been bothering him nonetheless. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't figure out why this particular posture struck a bell deep in a corner of his mind.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. Back again, I see. Am I to take it you wish to continue our conversation from last week?" When Harry nodded, the older man drew his wand and, with a few silent flicks, raised strong wards around the office. "I can assure you," he announced upon finishing, "that nobody will think to bother us until we're done here." The spark in not-Quirrell's eye made Harry wonder if he should be concerned for his safety.

"I've done a little research since last week, sir," Harry began sheepishly. "Very subtle, of course," he hastened to reassure as a sharp look entered the professor's eye. "I think I shouldn't have worried about Dark Magic at all. I mean, if I could control that club on Hallowe'en with no training, who knows what I could do if I practiced? Not that I'm going to do that," he added, realizing only then that he was talking to someone who could easily report him. "What I meant was, I don't see how I could unintentionally do a dark spell that was too powerful for me to handle. I mean, it's kind of instinctive, isn't it?" Harry asked, slightly unsure.

"I see you have indeed been researching," Quirrell commented, looking pleased. "Yes, you are correct. Generally a witch or wizard knows their limits. It is only when one ignores one's instincts that problems with control arise."

"Right. But I do have a question." He continued at Quirrell's nod. "You said last week that only harmful dark spells were banned."

"I didn't say only," Quirrell corrected, "I said that some harmful dark spells were banned. Some helpful ones were as well, including many ancient rituals devoted to Mother Magic."

Harry's eyes widened wonderingly. "Mother Magic? Wait—what kinds of non-harmful dark spells were banned?"

"One at a time," Quirrell held up a hand. "Mother Magic used to be the commonly excepted deity for witches and wizards. She was thought to be the provider of all magic, which as you know, originates from within the earth itself. There used to be legal dark rituals to be performed on magical holidays devoted to thanking her for her gifts to us. However, some of those rituals only work if you have Mother Magic's favor. If you do not, they go very wrong; Hence, they were banned."

A spark entered Harry's eye. "By whom?"

"Albus Dumbledore and his followers." No matter how he tried, not-Quirrell couldn't completely keep the anger from his words. One piece of the puzzle clicked in Harry's mind. Whoever was pretending to be Quirrell clearly was a follower of Tom's ideals. He was safe.

"Were they also responsible for banning several harmless dark spells?" Harry asked. "I was looking through old newspapers. Was he behind the banning of the dark fertility spell?" At this, Harry allowed a bit of anger to seep into his own expression.

Quirrell's lips tilted up for a half-second before flattening into a straight line. "He was," the man confirmed. But Quirrell's expression told Harry a lot more than one might think. Whatever he'd been looking for in the first year's response, he'd found it—and he was pleased to have done so.

… … …

The next night found Harry and his friends in the Gryffindor common room. It was technically Ron's turn with Harry, but the ginger had not finished his homework for Charms the next morning, so Harry kept him company as he finished it as quickly as he could. He spent the time talking to Dean and Seamus, the other two boys in his dorm.

At about seven o'clock, the portrait hole opened and Neville literally tumbled through it. It only took Harry a second to analyze the situation, and another to be across the room and by the shy boy's side. Pulling his wand, he cast a quick Finite on the Leglocker Curse he'd been under. Those who had seen the incident let out a few giggles, but they stopped abruptly as Harry fixed them with hard stares. He helped the shaking boy to his feet and led him to an open chair near the fire. Coincidentally, the seat was far from a still-snickering Ron.

"What happened to you?" Harry asked with concern.

"M-Malfoy," Neville responded, watching the light from the fire form flickering shapes on the hearth in front of him. "He and his friends. Th-they—"

"Where?" Harry asked calmly. On one hand, he was absolutely pissed at Malfoy. On the other, if he confronted the blond about it, he'd either avoid Neville entirely or be uncharacteristically nice to him, and neither of those options would look good when related to Harry. How could he keep his Boy-Who-Lived image if a child of Voldemort's biggest supporter listened to every word he said? The most he could do, he decided, was to help him through it. Maybe if he hung out with Neville in public, Draco would eventually get the subtle message and back off.

"Library," Neville replied faintly.

Harry had to clench his fists at the glimmer of tears in the other first year's eyes. He grasped Neville's shoulder and said firmly, "you're worth twelve of him. You remember that. I bet if someone had done that to him, he wouldn't have been able to make it all the way to his common room." This earned him a faint smile.

Ron spent the rest of the evening finishing his homework—though perhaps that was because Hermione kept telling him it wasn't good enough. They'd started tolerating each other after the Hallowe'en incident. They weren't getting along exactly, but Harry felt he could safely watch them from across the room. At least there wasn't so much of a risk of Hermione running off in tears again.

Because of this, Harry was able to spend the majority of the night with his new friend. He'd been planning to speak to the other boy for a while now, partially because he was a good Light Wizard for the Golden Boy to keep close, and partially because Neville's treatment showed him what Harry could have been like if he'd given in to his relatives. He didn't wish that constant insecurity and fear on anyone. He was curious to see how powerful the boy could be when he'd regained his confidence.

Sure enough, the boy began to relax around Harry as the night progressed. He knew it would take a lot more work than just one night, but he was willing to put in the effort.

As a first step, Harry offered, "do you want to come to the library after classes with me and Hermione? We do our homework right after it's assigned. We have different strengths, so we help each other. Mine are History and Defense; Hermione's are Charms and Transfiguration. But we're both horrible at Herbology. What do you say? We could all help each other."

Neville's eyes widened. "Y-you really mean it?" he asked hopefully.

Harry smiled warmly at the shy boy, but before he could give a verbal response, Ron's voice interrupted from behind him. "Seriously? You're letting Shlongbottom study with you, but not me?"

Instantly, Neville's eyes filled with tears. Harry let out a soft, slow sigh through clenched teeth before turning around to face his mandatory friend. "Yes," he said simply. "Because I know that unlike you, he actually cares about his work. And if I ever hear you call him that name again, you will be very sorry." And with that, he turned back to Neville, gesturing the once again astonished boy ahead of him up the stairs to their dorm. He was impressed that he'd been able to deliver those words with so much stern calmness. He'd heard Neville's nickname going around the upper years, but he hadn't been in a good position to stop it in its tracks until that moment.

"Sorry," Ron muttered to Harry as he followed him up the stairs.

"Don't apologize to me," Harry said in a tone loud enough for Neville to hear. "Neville's the one you insulted. Talk to him."

Sadly (for Ron, that is), he did not heed Harry's advice until the next evening. Harry had given him the silent treatment for the entire day, and had even gone so far as to spend his evening with his newest friend instead. Even then, the ginger only apologized at Hermione's insistence.

But in this time, he noticed something interesting: when Harry wasn't speaking to the youngest Weasley son, he spent his new-found spare time reading books on Wizarding culture and interesting historical events. Was he doing so in an attempt to impress Harry? The thought made him grin. Perhaps there was hope for the Weasley after all, if only he'd learn to deal with his jealousy in healthier ways.

Author's Note:

Finally! I've been planning that for three chapters now! I just keep surprising myself.

I believe the incident with Neville happens after Christmas in the originals. But what if it had happened before and those three just hadn't been there to see it? (Plus, it's something I wanted to fit in, and I don't know that it would fit in relation to the climax.)

Speaking of which, I really don't like guessing at chapters, but I'm going to say that first year will be done in roughly seven or eight. The climax will be happening sooner than you might think. This was one thing I actually did plan. My characters have these strange ways of getting to know each other's secrets in a very short time… ;)


	12. Chapter Eleven

Author's Note:

Oh my gosh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I really did start writing this three days ago, but then I got caught up in the wonderful, mystical world that is Harry Potter/Salazar Slytherin. It's awesome—he's sort of like Tom Riddle except he doesn't entertain ideas of killing Harry, and their relationship is actually functional and beautiful, and the stories often take place at the founding of Hogwarts. Unfortunately, my bubble has burst because I've already finished reading all the complete ones or the ones that look like they have a chance of being updated. You thought HP/TMR or HP/LV was a rare pairing? Think again. On the bright side of this, there is a strong possibility of me posting a HP/SalS oneshot. You can author alert me, but I'll also let you know all about it when/if it's up.

Thank you all once again for all your warm support. I smile at seeing each individual alert of a review, fav or follow. I'm sorry again that I haven't replied to all of them yet—give me twelve hours, and it shall be done. I know, I know, I suck. I have this week off though, and I plan to use it to stockpile chapters and work on that oneshot.

I want to thank a guest reviewer who pointed out several spelling errors in the first chapter—clearly my spell check was down. The chapter is fixed now. However, I do not appreciate the tone of the review. I must ask myself why guest reviewers feel they can be so sharp with their words. Perhaps they'd like to say it to my face, or attach a name or account to that review? … Yeah, didn't think so. This guest should be glad they decided to be sort of helpful, because I will fight fire with Fiendfyre. *smiles sweetly*

Right, so I've decided that offers for spoilers will only be for every hundredth review. I get too many favs and follows and I have no idea how to tell who my hundredth is. However, I know that reviews show up in the order they were posted. We'll be at the 100 review mark in a few chapters, so prepare yourselves. :D

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I wouldn't be on a fruitless search for university scholarships… *sigh*

Chapter Eleven

The next morning, Harry woke to his wand alerting him that it was four-thirty AM. He yawned as he gathered his things, unused to being awake at this absurdly early hour. Downing an invigoration draft, he sneaked out of the first year Gryffindor boys' dorm room. Down, down, down he crept, along corridors, through secret passages, and over trick steps. He encountered no one—even Filch and his miserable cat, Mrs. Norris, were asleep at this hour.

At last, he came to the girls' bathroom on the second floor. He was unconcerned by the shrieking sobs coming from within; Moaning Myrtle could be an inconvenience, but Tom's memories seemed to indicate that she'd keep his secret if he charmed her enough. So without further ado, Harry cracked the door open and slipped inside.

Upon catching sight of him, the sobbing teen-aged ghost paused in pouring out her misery. "This is a girls' bathroom," she hiccupped. "I suppose you've come to make fun of me too?"

"Not at all," Harry assured her with a gentle smile. "In fact, I heard you were lonely. I thought I'd come see if I could help."

Unfortunately, his words had the opposite effect he was going for. "You can't help me!" she let out a loud, whaling cry. "I'm already dead."

Cringing, Harry tried again. "Sorry, Myrtle. I just thought you might like some company; you know, to take your mind off things for a while."

Fortunately, this seemed to work. "Really?" The pimply, glasses-wearing, Ravenclaw ghost floated tentatively through the open stall door. "No one ever wants to talk to moaning, mopey Myrtle," she added with a pout.

It took all Harry's focus to keep from grimacing. If she was as annoying dead as she had been alive, he knew exactly why this was the case. She wouldn't be happy unless she was complemented all the time. But he only smiled and said, "I don't know why. They're all missing out on getting to know a very special person, if you ask me."

Harry had to hide a sneer as Myrtle blushed and giggled. He'd charmed her, all right. Now all he had to do was keep it up. "Hey Myrtle," he said after a moment of looking contemplatively around the filthy bathroom, "can I borrow one of your sinks?"

"Ooh, of course," she giggled again. "But whatever for?"

Harry looked hesitant. "Well, you see…" he paused uncertainly. "I heard of the Chamber of Secrets." Myrtle let out a scandalized gasp at the implications of his statement. "I've done some research on it, and I think the entrance is in here. If I understand correctly, that's how you died?" he asked gently.

Myrtle let out a gasping sob. "So that's why you're here. You don't care about me at all."

"That's not true," Harry replied, scandalized. "I actually wanted to find it to help you. See, I don't think that how you died is fair at all. You deserved much more than that. So I wanted to go down and kill the monster for you."

Once again, a bright smile split the normally miserable teen's face. "You'd do that for me?" she asked wonderingly.

"Of course. So do you mind if I borrow this sink over here?" Harry gestured to an old, cracked sink in front of a mirror in similar condition. Though he couldn't see it from where he was standing, he knew exactly where he'd find the carving of the snake. After all, that was one of Tom's clearest memories from his teen-aged years.

"No no, go ahead. Oh, and if you die down there, you're welcome to share my toilet." Myrtle giggled and blushed again, ducking back behind her stall door.

With a triumphant grin, Harry stepped forward and leaned down over the tap. Sure enough, the snake lay etched in the silver faucet. 'Open,' he commanded in Parseltongue. The next thing he knew, the sink spun out of sight and Harry stood at the top of a large pipe. 'Stairs?' he asked uncertainly. Nothing happened. Lovely, he thought.

Taking a deep breath, Harry lowered himself into the hole. When he could go no further without letting go, he released the edge of the pipe and hissed for the sink to close behind him. The last thing he heard was Myrtle's call for good luck above him.

Harry shivered in disgust when he realized that the ride down the pipe was as slimy as it was endless. As soon as he shot out the other end, he had his wand out and was performing several high-powered cleaning charms on himself. Once he'd determined that he was as clean as he'd get, he cast a Lumos, flicked the ball of light from the tip of his wand up to the ceiling, and took in his surroundings.

The walls of the first part of the chamber were roughly-formed and made of large stones. It almost had the appearance of a naturally formed underground cave, Harry thought. Perhaps that was the intention. If for some strange reason someone had come upon this from another entrance, they'd probably be intrigued and want to explore farther—that is, until they saw all the bones littering the ground. Many of them were the remnants of small animals, but quite a few had once been the bodies of larger animals. Harry decided not to look too closely at these.

He made his way through the cave, gesturing with his wand for the ball of light to follow along. The first thing he encountered was a huge shedding of Basilisk hide. He'd been nervous to approach it at first, not knowing whether or not it was the real snake or just skin. Upon realizing that it was the latter, however, he stepped close to examine its texture and color. With a flick of his wand, his ball of light came to hover over his shoulder so he could get a closer look.

From what he could tell, the hide was relatively fresh; it still seemed strong with minimal signs of decay. If his analysis proved to be correct, he could sell it for a lot of money. With a couple of rune-based spells (seeing as Basilisk hide was otherwise spell-resistant), it could be used as high-quality armor. He'd have to bring a sample to the Goblins, Harry thought. They were fond of examining precious artifacts, earth-made or not–they'd know its quality for sure.

He abandoned the skin for now though; he could always come back for it later. That hadn't been his main purpose for visiting, after all. Another wand flick had his ball of light returning to following him from above, and Harry continued down the wide cave-like tunnel.

After going around a bend in the hewn stone, he came to a slightly more intricate sight. Two doors stood shut, a carved snake positioned in front of them for protection.

'Open,' Harry hissed. The snake's jeweled eyes blinked once, and the doors slid open with a grinding noise. Holding his breath, Harry entered the main part of the chamber.

It was truly magnificent, reminding him more of a temple devoted to a long-forgotten deity than a chamber where secrets should be held. Stone pillars with intricate carvings of snakes reached up to a ceiling far above. Here and there, puddles of water lay glistening in the dim green light. Perhaps those hadn't been intentional, but they certainly gave the room more of a divine feel, as if nature had only been allowed to touch but not destroy. A wide aisle lead from the doors Harry had just entered to the other end of the chamber where stood a statue, presumably of Salazar Slytherin. As Harry walked toward this statue, his reverent footsteps echoed over and over through the cavernous chamber. As he walked, he suddenly had the sense that despite the early hour, he was not alone here—no, all ancestors of Salazar Slytherin were watching him. But it didn't feel as if they were judging him harshly; on the contrary, they were congratulating him for finding this place without being of Slytherin blood. And for a moment, Harry felt guilty. After all, Tom had done all the leg work.

For one long moment, he lost himself in contemplations. What if he didn't have Tom's memories? He knew so many things because of them, but what if he hadn't had the enigmatic boy turned Dark Lord to guide him? How much could he have learned for himself?

Then, that long moment was over. He did have Tom's memories. And he was about to prove that he deserved them. He was going to stop relying on only the memories. He would use them as a guide in thanks for the gift, but he'd learn things for himself. Salazar Slytherin and many of his ancestors, ending with Tom, had all contributed to a library in the Chamber. Harry was going to access it, and he'd re-learn and practice every spell and ritual he could find. He'd soak up all the knowledge the Chamber had to offer, then he'd add his own. After all, history had to be recorded somewhere so it wouldn't be lost.

Walking to the left side of the chamber, harry whispered, 'o ancestors of the greatest of the Hogwarts Four, reveal to me your secrets.'

At these words, a twenty foot wide section of the stone wall melted away to reveal a library of the simplest sort. The room was twenty feet by forty feet. Its walls were lined with stuffed bookshelves. Some newer ones had been set up in rows in the middle of the room as well. Nearest the door sat one large stone desk with a magically preserved chair on one side. As soon as Harry stepped through the entrance, the wall reappeared behind him. This, he soon discovered, was also filled with books.

For the next hour, Harry worked on the promise he'd made to himself. He first studied the art of conjuration as it had been known near the founding of Hogwarts. Then he read each new section on the subject, Tom's contributions being the last. At this point, Harry noted some inconsistencies with basic theory he'd been taught in school. Clearly he'd have to start with updating this section, Harry realized. Nevertheless, when he felt secure enough with the theory, he began attempting to conjure small things for himself.

He'd started with this skill for one simple reason: there was nothing within the Chamber of Secrets that he'd feel comfortable practicing other spells on. At the end of this practice session he'd only be able to conjure small objects, but even that would be an accomplishment for his age. Conjuration was a sixth year branch of Transfiguration. It would take him several sessions to master, but then he could move onto more interesting things.

Before he knew it, his time was up. Harry returned all books to where he'd found them, then rushed from the library section of the Chamber. It was probably close to 6:30 right now, but he still had to find another way out. After all, he couldn't use the same excuse for getting past Myrtle in her bathroom again.

Upon scanning the walls of the main Chamber, he discovered that many endings of pipes hid cleverly in shadows. They probably led to other ways out, Harry thought. After all, the Basilisk couldn't stay in this main area forever—she had to get her food from somewhere. He'd been planning to examine each one of the tunnels, but thinking of the Basilisk gave him another idea.

Walking over to the statue opposite the Chamber's main doors, he declared, 'speak to me Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four!' The statue's mouth opened with a loud grinding and a shadow moved from within. Harry covered his eyes, knowing all too well that meeting the Serpent King's—or Queen's—gaze would bring him instant death. 'You are Circe?' he asked once he heard the snake's body touch the Chamber floor.

'Yes, speaker, that is my name. How do you know of me?' Though Harry couldn't see it, the snake flicked her tongue, capturing his scent in her memory.

'I am named Harry Potter. I know of your last Master, Tom Riddle,'' Harry replied. 'I require your assistance.'

'I will not rid the school of the "unworthy", as my last Master called them. I prefer the taste of other, larger animals,' the Basilisk said immediately. If snakes could pout, Harry thought with a slight grin, that's what Circe sounded like she was doing.

'Good,' Harry replied, relieved. 'I was only going to ask for information. Are there other exits that your past Masters and Mistresses have used? How many ways out of the Chamber of Secrets are there?'

The large snake flicked her tongue again. 'I know of many,' she said finally. 'My first Master—Salazar Slytherin—preferred the stairs behind my statue. They only need Parseltongue to appear.'

'Thank you, Circe.' Harry bowed to the Serpent King—or rather Queen. He paused to think for a moment, then added, 'if you wish, I can bring you food when I return.'

'Please do,' Circe replied eagerly. 'I am returning to my statue now, Master. You may open your eyes.'

After making sure that all movement had stopped, Harry did indeed reopen his eyes. He walked around to the back of the statue. From the front, it appeared to be right against the Chamber's back wall, but upon closer examination he realized that it was hiding a small alcove.

'stairs,' he hissed. Thankfully, this time his request was excepted, and a spiral staircase clicked into view. After only a moment's hesitation, he began to climb. Up and up he went, around and around in circles. This chamber must be farther under the school than Harry had thought. He found himself wondering where it would come out. Hopefully he wouldn't have to come up with an excuse for ending up somewhere he shouldn't be. He didn't have time to re-descend and find another way up.

About ten minutes later, he discovered his answer as he stepped into the entrance hall near the top of the stairs leading to the dungeons.

He also discovered that several people had already awakened and were enjoying an early breakfast in the Great Hall. So after a quick Scourgify just in case, Harry stepped through the fake wall and joined them.

Author's Note:

So yeah. Please note that Harry's views on things are not necessarily my own. (This comment pertaining to Myrtle.) I'll have to make this warning again later for Tom as well.

How did you like my Chamber of Secrets? It's essentially the same as the original but with some stuff added and seen from the point of view of a slightly more attached Harry.

I'd intended for this chapter to cover a lot more. I think the Chamber will be only briefly mentioned from now on. Then again, I thought it would just be a small thing in this chapter, and look what happened.


	13. Chapter Twelve

Author's Note:

Hey all! I'm still amazed that new people are faving and following this story, so thank you all so much for that. I also read, enjoy and reply to every review I receive, and I'm endlessly grateful for the criticism. I generally know where I want this story to go, but you all have more impact over the route to the ending than you realize.

This chapter is the normal length, but it covers a lot. Let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, Neville would have been in Ron's place as Harry's best friend. (No, that's not a clue for where this story is going, sorry.)

Chapter Twelve

After classes that day, Harry began to make good on his offer to Neville. As they were leaving Transfiguration, he grabbed the Longbottom heir by the sleeve and asked, "did you still want to join me and Hermione in the library?"

Neville's eyes widened in disbelief. "You were serious?"

"Of course." Harry grinned. "Come on."

As he'd predicted, Neville was a great help. Tom had been just as good at Herbology as he had his other subjects, but he'd found it rather boring, so Harry had trouble getting any use out of his memories for that class. Neville had knowledge of extra facts about the plants on top of what they were learning; Harry and Hermione were fascinated. Herbology hadn't been his favorite subject, but he was beginning to enjoy it a lot more.

Thankfully, Hermione was kind to the shy first year as well. To Harry's and Neville's surprise, she took in his superior knowledge in Herbology with grace. They knew based on other classes with her that she didn't like to be outsmarted, but the way his eyes lit up like they'd never seen as he spoke of his best subject by far must have convinced her to let him have his pleasure.

In return for his help, Hermione and Harry tutored the boy in Defense, History, Charms and Transfiguration. It seemed that all he needed was to ask questions, because after writing his history essay, Neville confided that he felt much more comfortable with the time period they were studying.

The downside to their first study session was that Ron sat one table away. He had a book titled One Hundred and Eight Wacky Wizarding Inventions of the Nineteenth Century open in front of him and looked to be engrossed in its pages and even taking notes. However, when Harry walked past him to retrieve a book, one glance at his roll of parchment told Harry that the boy was actually copying down Harry's, Hermione's and Neville's words as if his life depended on it. Harry thought about stopping the boy but ultimately decided against it. The Weasley needed a touch of Slytherin in him. They'd said they wouldn't help him, and technically they weren't—they were helping each other, and he was benefitting from it. Harry couldn't begrudge him that. However, he did begin to point to parts of essays or passages in books to ask his question or make his point. Ron would only get so far by listening to him, he decided.

The rest of the week carried on much the same way: Neville did his homework with Harry and Hermione, then Ron and Harry played chess and discussed wizarding customs. Every morning, Harry got up early to practice his spell work in the Chamber of Secrets. By the end of the week, he decided that he could conjure as much as he'd need to begin practicing other spells. If there was ever a need to conjure something more complex than he was capable of at that point, resources for furthering his abilities were readily available.

After Thursday's accomplishment of conjuring a snake, Harry decided to begin working on the Obliviate charm. After all, he'd been more careless in keeping his Boy-Who-Lived persona than he'd like to admit, and it would always be useful to have a way to cover it up. First he questioned the snake on several topics, then he tried to Obliviate its knowledge of one particular subject. He quickly learned that it took much more finesse than he was used to. Thankfully, Obliviate charms didn't erase memories; they only put a patch of blank space over them. Once an Obliviater was skilled enough, they could fill in the newly created blank spot. However, Harry would end up spending a lot of time trying to make the blank spot cover one particular topic. He always took either far too much memory or far too little. The fact that everyone arranged their minds using different methods only complicated matters. One also had to cover the memory pathways leading to other memories, because if they were not hidden the Obliviate would break much more easily. However, the upside to the way the Obliviate charm worked was that he could always undo it and try again. It was rather unfortunate for Harry's conjured snake that pain or trauma were the most proven methods of undoing the charm.

As he studied, he kept coming across pieces of knowledge that Quirrell had shared with him in the last few weeks. However, it struck him as odd that these bits of knowledge were written in Parseltongue journals by Tom's ancestors. These could never have found their way into modern publications. So how had Quirrell learned them? Harry had scoured Tom's memories for any featuring the man, but as far as he could see, the Defense professor was one of Voldemort's low-ranking followers. He would have no reason to share such valuable information with a man he didn't value. Perhaps something had happened in the past ten years, years in which Tom Riddle's memories were not updated in Harry's mind. Had Voldemort still been operating after his encounter with Harry? Had Quirrell moved up in his ranks? Harry had no idea, but he was very eager to find out—in a subtle way, of course. It would have to be very subtle, considering the Master of the man he was dealing with.

That Saturday, Harry arrived at Quirrell's office at the usual time. This time they discussed the advanced theory of forcing Harry's raw power to do his bidding without the need for a spell. Quirrell had come to the conclusion that this is how Harry had managed the advanced Levitation charm when he'd fought the troll, and decided that if he'd done it so well at such a young age, he must have an affinity for the skill. Harry wasn't going to correct him.

"Besides," the older man had argued, "you cannot be legally punished for performing a dark spell, because technically you didn't cast any spells—you simply manipulated your magic.

"However, theory only takes us so far," Quirrell concluded. "Perhaps we should put this into practice?"

Harry shivered at the glint that suddenly appeared in the man's eye. "I—I suppose so," he agreed. What else could he say?

"Same time next Saturday then, Mr. Potter," Quirrell concluded, turning to a stack of homework on his desk and dismissing Harry. … … …

The next week was pure torture, only made worse by the almost malicious glint in Quirrell's eye whenever he caught sight of Harry. He knew the stuttering wizard was more powerful than he was letting on in class, and as much as Harry wanted to challenge himself, he wasn't sure he wanted to train with someone yet, especially when that glint in his professor's eye gave him a clue that the man wouldn't go easy on him and perhaps had ulterior motives.

That week, he also began his plan of testing the waters with Neville and Hermione. It was a month before Christmas holidays, and discussions were beginning about what everyone would be doing during their time off. When Neville brought this topic up with his two study partners, Harry looked hesitantly back at the boy. He waited until Hermione had declared her intentions to ski with her family, then enthusiastically described skiing to the clueless Pureblood. When Harry still looked hesitant to answer, Neville asked Harry directly what he would be doing.

"Ron's been teaching me about wizarding customs," Harry began uncertainly. "He was saying that one thing the Wizarding world used to do was celebrate … different holidays. Like the Winter Solstice. So I'm staying here, but I was thinking I'd … explore some of those celebrations."

Hermione smiled, but Neville looked horrified. "But Harry," he exclaimed, "that's illegal!"

"Yeah, I know." Harry looked down. "I just thought—the Potters are—were—a Pureblood family. I just thought it would be worth it to learn some of the old traditions. Besides," he added, looking up again, "I don't understand why they've been made illegal. It doesn't make sense—I mean, they're meant for worshipping Mother Magic. What's so bad about that?"

"They're Dark Magic!" Neville flailed his hands in a useless attempt to help him explain. "They—they—"

Now Hermione looked intrigued. After hushing the boy—they were still in the library, after all—she prompted, "Harry has a point. Why were they banned—I mean, besides the fact that they're Dark Magic? If they were rituals of celebration, why were they suddenly made illegal?"

Neville was almost hyperventilating. "They're dangerous—people have died from them," he whispered, leaning in. "No one knows why. The magic just—just backfired. And there was no telling when it would happen or who would die—"

Harry frowned. If this is what everyone thought, no wonder it was so easy to ban things. "But how many died? I mean, it used to be a common practice, right? But from what I've read, there weren't very many deaths."

Neville looked lost. "It's—I don't—it's a Pureblood thing, I think," he finally settled on. "Yes, deaths weren't particularly common, but when they did happen, families lost important heirs. The old religion was cruel that way—it just took important members of society without regard for their positions. That's why all the old rituals were banned." Neville looked relatively satisfied with his explanation.

"But one could argue that something like spell crafting does the same," Harry countered. "I don't see where the problem is if practitioners know what they're getting into. Perhaps they died because they didn't respect Mother Magic—they just took her for granted and did the ritual without offering Her the proper respect."

Neville looked doubtful. "Maybe," was all he'd say on the matter. However, Harry noticed the Longbottom scion's frown as he got lost in thought several times over the rest of the study session. He also noticed Ron's contemplative, unfocused gaze from the next table over.

Hopefully those two would come up with enough reasons not to report Harry. If one of them did decide to report him, he'd find it quite difficult to get out of all the trouble he'd be in. Perhaps he'd taken too much of a risk or been too hasty, but he had a feeling things would sort themselves out. Besides, this was yet another reason to train and expand his practical knowledge as quickly as possible.

… … …

Harry knocked on Quirrell's door that Saturday with a heavy knot of dread in his stomach. The knot tied even tighter as Quirrell's overly cheerful voice called for him to enter.

The large office had been rearranged, Harry noted. The desk and bookshelves had been moved, leaving a large empty space in the middle of the floor. An anvil was positioned almost exactly in the middle of this space. When he walked through the door, he felt the tingle that came with passing through strong wards. Clearly, the professor had put up protection.

"First," Quirrell instructed, "I want you to repeat the advanced Levitation charm. Guide your magic to do your bidding—don't think of the charm, just envision what you want and force your magic to obey."

Straight to business then, Harry thought nervously. Taking a deep breath, he pulled out his wand, then closed his eyes, directing his magic through the conduit. It built in the air in front of Harry like a cloud of something not quite liquid but not quite gaseous. When it had filled in the space around the anvil, Harry lifted his wand, directing the anvil to lift. He opened his eyes to see that it had done as he'd commanded, but not to the extent he'd been hoping for. The position of his wand tip indicated that the anvil should be four feet off the ground. However, the large metal object was slowly sinking down despite his magic's desperate grasp. Harry let go, then doubled over gasping. That had taken a lot more out of him than he'd expected.

"You should know," Quirrell commented mildly, "that that particular anvil weighs about four hundred pounds—that's about twice as heavy as the troll's club. You were acting under adrenaline at that point, so your results that night were comparatively stronger than your results today. This is also something you've done before, so your magic knows what to do more than it would with other spells. Perhaps we should try something else."

And they did. Object after object was placed within the protective wards, each with a different spell to perform on it. Sadly, nothing else yielded nearly the same results. Though perhaps that was because the first time with the anvil had exhausted Harry—after that first experiment, his magic was far more sluggish and reluctant to go where Harry tried to send it.

At long last, Quirrell called a halt to the day's practice. Before dismissing Harry, he sat pensively for several moments, staring off into space. Finally he said, "perhaps we could test this theory in a real-life situation." At Harry's raised eyebrow, he elaborated, "Do you remember Dumbledore's mention of the third floor corridor at the Start of Year Feast?" Harry nodded cautiously.

Quirrell thought for a moment more, then suddenly became a lot more enthusiastic. "He asked each teacher to set up challenges that only a master in their subject could successfully overcome. It seems that adrenaline makes your magic catch onto new spells. If you would like to continue learning this method, progress would be much faster with some sort of motivation, such as your safety." He gave Harry a wry look.

Harry thought about this for a moment. He'd have to do a lot of practice before then—he was still aware that, for all his knowledge, his spell work was not where it should be. This would be a perfect goal to work towards and a good challenge. Besides, he'd been hoping progress would be quicker. If Quirrell's theory was actually true and Harry could make his magic do as he wanted without incantations, he would suddenly be capable of a lot more. "All right," he agreed with a nod.

Quirrell's look turned positively gleeful. "Excellent. I will accompany you just in case something goes wrong, and to disable any detection wards. Perhaps we may see what the great Albus Dumbledore deemed so important to hide," he sneered derisively.

"When do we do it?" Harry asked, gaining enthusiasm. Inside, however, he was making a mental note at Quirrell's last words. Something just didn't fit. There was no time to think of it now though.

The corner of Quirrell's lips turned up in the closest thing to a grin Harry had seen from the man. "New Year's Eve?" he suggested.

Harry considered this, then shrugged. "Sure, why not."

Author's Note:

What do you think of a glimpse of the light's views on Dark Magic? I've planned out a bunch more about this conflict, and I'm really excited for what's to come. This will not be a "Dumbledore's annoying and fooling everyone to get his No Dark Magic way" story, so if that's what you're looking for here, sorry to disappoint you.

The last lesson with Quirrell felt … weird to me. Does anyone else feel it too?

Did anyone see the foreshadowing here? I'll give you a cookie if you did. If you didn't—you'll see in… I'd say three or four chapters maybe?


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Author's Note:

Thank you all so much! I'm still amazed whenever I see a new review, fav and follow. If you haven't reviewed yet, don't be shy. I don't bite unless you bite first, and I always reply to all follow, fav, and review alerts I receive.

I'm surprised nobody saw the foreshadowing I was referring to in the last chapter. I'm not telling though—it'll just be even more of a surprise when it hits. Mwahahahaha*coughs* excuse me.

I'm coming down with a horrible, incurable disease called Grade Twelve Year-itus. It lasts about ten months. This means schedule change again. I'm hoping to update once a week, but I'm thinking it will be closer to twice a month. I know I missed Thursday's update… and Sunday's… sorry… but that once a week schedule starts now. It's probably a bad time too, because things really start getting interesting here.

I don't like how the timeline turned out. Things are all too close together in early November, and now there's too much time. So if anything's weird, that's why. I tried my best to work around my misjudgments. I think I like how it turned out though. Please let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I could just skip this whole mess. But I blink, and look at that! This still says "Disclaimer".

Chapter Thirteen

The next two weeks allowed Harry to settle into his new schedule. Every morning he trained in the Chamber of Secrets, then he came back and got ready for classes with the rest of his dorm mates. He studied with his tentative friends after school and discussed with Ron in the evenings. Ron's time for Harry began to mysteriously increase—he offered the excuse that he was focusing more on his work, but Harry wasn't fooled.

Ron and Neville had also taken to shooting Harry frowning, contemplative glances. They only needed one more push, but what would that push make them do? Would they look into Dark Magic, or would they report Harry? He didn't know, so he left it alone. Whatever they decided, they'd probably talk to him about it before the Winter Solstice. They wouldn't act before then. And when they did bring the subject up, he'd deal with it accordingly.

He had caught Hermione in the library looking in the section where, if it were legal, one might find the ritual Harry had mentioned. He'd gently guided her away, promising to give her information later. That evening, he'd found her by the fire in the Gryffindor common room and offered her a book he'd picked up as extra reading material to his trip to Diagon Alley that summer. He'd Glamoured it to look like a supplementary Transfiguration text, because he knew she would have trouble examining it with any sense of subtlety.

During these two weeks, he had one more lesson with Quirrell in which he tried to reserve some of his energy near the beginning so he didn't tire so fast. He was finding the training rather difficult though—Quirrell was asking him to do things that there were spells for. Harry would always bring the spells to mind as he tried to direct his magic, leaving the magic confused on what it was actually supposed to do. It was just a shame he couldn't get instruction tailored a little more to his situation. The Defense professor didn't know of Harry's mental conflict, and Harry wasn't going to explain it to him.

For most of the month of November, Harry had subconsciously been working on the mystery surrounding Quirrell. Finally, on the first Friday of December, everything came together in his mind as he was training in the Chamber of Secrets. He hadn't been making too much progress with Quirrell's training, so he'd thought there might be further instruction on the subject in the Chamber. The pieces started to click when the written explanation of the technique matched Quirrell's description almost word for word. Quirrell wasn't the kind of person to memorize explanations and definitions. He preferred to rephrase any material he came across so he could better understand it. However, the explanation had made a lot of sense to Tom, so if he decided to share it with anyone, he'd probably be more likely to quote it as Quirrell had. Suddenly, that combined with Quirrell's sudden acquisition of that rare knowledge and the demeanor he presented it in struck a chord in Harry. "Quirrell has Tom!" he cried out suddenly. His voice echoed discordantly in the chamber, but he was too lost in calculations to notice. Could he reveal this information? How would Tom take it if he did? It all came down to whether or not the man believed Harry to be under his thumb enough. If he thought for a moment that Harry was deceiving him, there was no telling what he'd do. It also depended on if he was acting as Voldemort or Tom. Thankfully, he had quite a bit of time to think it over—the man would be his Defense professor for at least the rest of the year, after all.

… … …

Harry's silence lasted a little over a week.

The Saturday after his discovery, he focused as hard as he could on his lesson. He had to make sure the man didn't get the sense that Harry would betray him, and right now that translated into practically worshipping everything he said. He didn't do much better with the advanced theory, but he told himself the enthusiasm was what counted. Tom praised him before dismissing him that day. Perhaps that was Harry's downfall.

All throughout the next week, Harry ran the dilemma through his mind. Had the man been genuine in praising him, or had he done it to make sure Harry didn't get discouraged? Hadn't Harry demonstrated his interest and loyalty enough by doing research and agreeing with the man's ideals? There was no telling; as Harry was becoming to realize, knowing the man and reading his actions were two very different things. He tried pulling on memories of similar situations in the past, but Tom had decided on a course of action on a case-by-case basis.

Unfortunately for Harry, his indecisiveness bled into the next lesson with the Dark Lord. Not five minutes in, he called a halt to the practice. "You're not focusing. What's on your mind?"

Harry froze as the debate raged through his mind once more. Had Quirrell—or Tom—asked in an understanding way or an annoyed way? Had Harry proven his loyalty? He'd taken too much time thinking, so he had to say something. But should he lie or tell the truth? His mind was too panicked to come up with a course of action, so he settled for staring stupidly at his Defense Professor.

"Well?"

That was definitely impatience, Harry decided. He'd been kept waiting too long, and Harry had nothing to share other than the truth. However, something deep inside him told him that all would be well. He held desperately to that voice and the hope that Tom would believe in his loyalty as he bowed his head. "I'm sorry, my Lord. It won't happen again."

A long moment of silence followed. Harry peeked up through his lashes to see Quirrell's pale eyes fixed on him. The rest of the man's body was relaxed, but those eyes gave away his shock. "My Lord." The man's lips and tongue caressed the syllables thoughtfully, savoring the taste. "And what, may I ask, brought you to this conclusion?"

Harry froze again. He'd been so focused on what Tom would do to him for having the knowledge. He hadn't even considered the possibility that the man would want to know how Harry had found out. And why wouldn't he want to know? He'd clearly been going about this seduction with the intention of Harry remaining ignorant to whom was really mentoring him. Perhaps he'd intended to reveal it when the time was right. But Harry had seen through him, and he had no explanation for it other than the truth. How could he tell the truth though, when he had no idea of how the man would react? He hadn't had nearly long enough to analyze the situation, so even if he had time to think it over, he wouldn't have enough information to go on. Because Tom had never faced something like this before. He couldn't guess at a reaction. It all came down to perceived loyalty, Harry thought; loyalty and luck. But even though he had no other option but the truth, that didn't mean he had to tell the whole truth.

"I sort of remember you," Harry said finally. "I don't really know how to explain it. Everything about you is… familiar—your posture, your speech patterns, your enthusiasm. It was a guess on my part. I've done reading on Dark Magic, and this technique we're practicing"—he gestured to the warded area around him—"wasn't mentioned anywhere. And Quirrell stutters in class. You—or he—didn't act like that in these lessons. I couldn't be sure, but—"

Quirrell's eyes widened in sudden enlightenment. Suddenly the wards around the practice area came crashing down, and the Defense professor was striding through them to where Harry stood. Before Harry could react, the man's hand was under Harry's chin. He tilted the nervous first year's face up to his own and stared for a long moment—not into his eyes, but at his scar. Harry frowned. He'd expected an interrogation, then probably a Legilimency attack—but not this, whatever this was.

The man lifted his wand then, tracing Harry's scar with its tip. Harry stiffened in consternation as he felt a tingle of magic. He only relaxed as Quirrell's eyes widened in delight and he stepped back. Harry let his head fall again, this time to avoid the scrutinous gaze. "What—My Lord, may I ask what that was?"

But Tom would not answer. "I am surprised that you are not excelling at this skill. After all, I managed it from a very young age."

Harry blinked. With the conversation closed, he felt it safe to raise his head again. What he saw unsettled him: a possessive glint now shone in Quirrell's light blue eyes. "I'm sorry, My Lord," Harry started. "I—I've studied a lot of magic ever since I could read. Everything you try to get me to do—there's already a spell for that. The spell is all I can think of."

"And because of that, your magic is confused," Tom finished for him, pressing the fingertips of one hand to his chin in thought. "It is definitely more difficult when you already know a spell that serves the same purpose, particularly when you don't have a feel for the technique yet. However, the point of this is to manipulate the magic so no spells are required. Perhaps we need to be a little more creative first, hmm?" The wards went back up, and a rubber ball about a foot in diameter appeared in front of him. "Don't make it blow up upon impact with magic, make it explode outward from the middle," Quirrell instructed.

And indeed, Harry's mind couldn't produce a pre-crafted spell for this purpose, so he set his magic to the task.

That lesson had gone the best of all of them so far, even though Harry still wasn't particularly gifted with that technique. He and Tom were pleased with his progress though, so he was happy. Nevertheless, Tom's steady possessive gaze had unnerved Harry. Even as he left the office and returned to spend time with his friends, he wondered what Tom had learned to make things change. He'd started with the staring right after examining Harry's scar, he recalled, but he couldn't imagine what about that mark made it so special.

It wasn't until that night when Harry was in bed that it fully occurred to him. Voldemort had left that scar the night he tried to kill Harry—it was the last memory of Tom's that Harry had. Something about Harry's claim to "just know" the man had triggered the examination of the scar, and then the possessive gaze—

And then it clicked.

Harry was Tom Riddle's Horcrux.

And Tom Riddle knew it.

This was certainly an interesting development.

Author's Note:

Why Quirrell could touch Harry: I based this on the theory that Lily's sacrifice only prevents Voldemort from harming Harry. He had no intention of doing that, so the protection didn't burn him.

I hope my Harry was still in character. I did some reading these last few days and lost track of what my Harry would do, as opposed to other Harrys.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Author's Note:

Hey all! Thank you all so much for your reviews, favs, and follows. I strive to reply to each and every one, so if I missed you I'm very sorry. Thanks to you all, we reached one hundred reviews! *throws confetti*

About that Harry/Salazar story… it's coming, I promise. It's going to be one of those twenty thousand word pieces, I think. I haven't decided if I want to do a oneshot or split it up, but I'm leaning towards the latter. Even if I do that, I won't start posting until it's completed. Thoughts?

For this chapter, it would be good to remember that Neville's objections to the Winter Solstice ritual was its illegality and the fact that it killed people in the past. If you want to re-read the entire conversation, it's in chapter twelve.

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter I'd probably have a lot more free time to write.

Chapter Fourteen

Despite Harry's suggestion of the Winter Solstice ritual, he knew that the school's wards wouldn't allow him to do such blatant Dark Magic on the grounds. The presence of these wards either didn't occur to Ron and Neville, or they didn't know of them.

After over a month of shooting Harry those suspicious, contemplative frowns, they finally confronted him together in the Gryffindor common room. Harry waved over Hermione, hoping she could learn from this conversation as well. Once she had joined them, Harry flicked his wand, raising a silencing ward around them. He'd been practicing it for just such an occasion.

"What's she doing here?" Ron spat as soon as she took her seat next to Harry.

"She deserves to know about this too," Harry stated calmly, giving his "best mate" a hard stare.

Ron looked away then, determined to ignore the know-it-all's presence.

After glancing around to make sure nobody was watching too closely, Neville spoke nervously. "Harry, were you still planning to do that ritual this Saturday?"

Harry shrugged. "I've been thinking about it, why?" His words were innocent, but the harsh glint in his eye told all. The "are you going to report me if I do?" went unsaid.

Neville raised his hands in supplication. "Don't worry, mate," he placated, stumbling over his words in his haste. "We just wanted to know because—it's like we said, people have died. If you're planning to do it, we won't report you, but we want to know where you are and when to expect you back, just in case, you know?"

Harry's harsh demeanor fell away as he tilted his head down in a nod. "I couldn't do it anyway," he revealed. "The wards on the school would pick it up and I'd get in trouble. Plus, I can't leave the grounds by myself—I'd get locked out. And I wouldn't drag anyone else into helping me, especially people who are uncomfortable with all this." He gave Ron and Neville a pointed look.

Surprisingly, it was Ron who caught on first. "You were testing us," he realized.

Again, Harry nodded. "Don't get me wrong, I am interested in the old religion," he added hastily at the looks of shocked betrayal. "I just wanted you to know—I'm not going to be entirely light. And I wanted to see if any of you would have a problem with it."

Hermione bent down to where her bag sat and pulled out the book Harry had loaned her. Neville's and Ron's eyes widened in fascinated horror upon realizing what it was, but Harry and Hermione ignored them. Passing it back to her friend, the bushy-haired bookworm confided, "I don't think I'd be entirely light either. I mean, they give warnings in this about how important having good intentions is. The people who died—well, maybe they didn't deserve it, but from what I read, going in with unpure intentions is a pretty stupid mistake to make, isn't it?" Hermione glanced uncertainly between her two friends, ignoring Ron as he'd ignored her.

Neville now looked thoughtful, but Ron was pissed again. "You're going dark too! Of course you would. You know nothing, you stupid mudbl—"

Harry stood up angrily. "You'd better not finish that sentence, Ronald Weasley," he said in a deadly calm tone. Ron actually took a step back at this. Harry slowly lowered himself back into his chair in satisfaction, then continued the conversation from where he'd left off. "This is what I understood from my research: Dark Magic is much more powerful than Light Magic in that it almost has a mind of its own. If the user isn't able to control it, in this case because they don't cherish Mother Magic as much as the ritual requires, the magic will rebel on the caster."

"Just how much reading have you done on Dark Magic?" Ron asked suspiciously.

"Oh, enough." Harry waved a hand in a vague dismissal. "You and I don't read the same kinds of books, Ron. You're interested in a different side of wizarding culture—the legal side, you could say."

Ron just shrugged. Neville suddenly appeared very uncertain and nervous again as he asked, "hey Harry, can I maybe borrow one of your books? I'm not saying you're right or wrong, but I just want to see…"

Ron stared at Neville, betrayed. "You're going dark now too? You're all going dark?!" He took a step back, suddenly realizing that he was in the minority.

Harry panicked for a moment. If there was one person the Golden Boy couldn't afford to lose as a friend, it was Ron. "We're not necessarily going dark," he placated. "We just want to understand. I mean, is it a coincidence that magic has been strong for the last several thousand years, but now when Dark Magic is being banned we're suddenly losing strength? More and more Pureblood wizards are being born as Squibs and we're seeing fewer and fewer muggleborns. Inbreeding has always been an issue, so why are we only seeing the magical consequences now?"

They all stared at him for a long moment, mouths hanging open in shock. "Where did you get that information?" Neville finally asked.

Harry shrugged uncomfortably, but on the inside he was panicking even more than he had been a few moments before. That wasn't common knowledge. That was part of Tom's contribution to the Chamber's library—a study relating waning magical strength to the amount of Dark Magic banned. So he thought fast. What could he tell them that they could find for themselves? "It was just a theory a friend of mine had," he stuttered out finally. "If you look at when Dark Magic started being banned and compare it with historic Dark Lords and Ladies—their "terribly great abilities" slowly stop being so terribly great. And it takes longer to take them down. It might be a bit of a stretch, but it correlates exactly. I have no idea what about Dark Magic preserves the strength of magic in general, but I want to find out." As his explanation went on, Harry became a little more confident. He was pleased with his excuse—it certainly sounded plausible.

As he spoke, a very interesting idea came to Harry. If it worked out, maybe Tom wouldn't have as much of a problem gathering new followers when he returned to a body he didn't have to share with a weak minion.

Hermione's eyes lit up. "A friend of yours, you said? I'd love to see the research notes." She leaned forward as if to look over his shoulder.

"He didn't give me his notes," Harry replied, leaning back slightly in response. "But if you want, I'll ask him for all the relevant articles, and you can have at them. No promises on the research notes though" He made a mental note to follow through on that promise. The research might take away from his early morning studying time, but it was worth it.

"I'd like to see them too," Neville murmured.

Ron also looked intrigued despite himself. "I guess if you can get them I'll take a look," he decided grudgingly.

And with that, Harry's studying focus for the next couple weeks changed. He still practiced with the Dark Lord at the usual time that Saturday, but as soon as he was done he returned to the Daily Prophet archives section of the library.

He suddenly found himself with a lot more free time when school let out for the holidays. Even better, Hermione and Neville left for home, and Ron left him alone to find his information. With these two things combined, he managed to find time to practice in the Chamber of Secrets as well.

By Christmas eve day, Harry had a rough set of articles to share. He first presented them to Ron, knowing that he'd be the most skeptical and hardest to convince. After a couple of hours of seriously examining Harry's evidence, Ron looked much more uncertain. "It's just hard, you know?" he tried to explain. "I've spent all my life being told that Dark Magic is bad. Are you sure there's no other explanation for all this?"

"Not that I know of, sorry. It all fits together perfectly in my mind." Harry wasn't particularly sorry though. Maybe his friend would be more open-minded when he heard the same information come from another side; yet another good reason for Harry to proceed with putting his idea into practice.

… … …

The next morning dawned bright and clear. Harry had almost forgotten that it was Christmas day—he'd never received Christmas presents from his relatives, so to him it was just another day. However, upon opening his eyes, Harry spotted a small pile of wrapped gifts at the bottom of his bed. He blinked a few times, but they were still there. Perhaps the House Elves had delivered them to the wrong bed, Harry thought. Nevertheless, he leaned down and grabbed the top package, pulling it closer to examine the tag. Sure enough, his name was written in a messy scrawl across it. One glance at Ron's bed showed his friend to still be asleep though, so Harry placed the present back where he'd found it and instead pulled out a book to occupy his time until Ron woke. After all, presents were supposed to be opened with friends and family, according to the Dursleys.

It only took a half hour or so for the ginger to wake. Harry was alerted almost immediately by his gleeful call of "presents!" Harry took this as his cue to set his book aside and dive for his own pile with enthusiasm equaling the youngest Weasley son's. Despite this, he opened each one with reverence. After all, these were the first Christmas presents he'd ever gotten.

Harry's presents ranged in size and value, but he cherished each one the same. Hermione had given him a thick tome on wizarding history, while the Dursleys had sent a fifty-pence piece. Malfoy Junior had gifted him with a disguised self-updating index of dark spells and their uses and casting instructions. From Neville, Harry received a deep blue amulet on a chain and a note that said, "originally belonged to Black family. Hides evidence of Dark Magic usage—you need it." Harry was a little shaken by this, but he immediately put it on just in case Neville was right. Mrs. Weasley sent along a box of homemade fudge and a knitted emerald green sweater with a big H on the front. Harry frowned at Ron's complaints as he saw his own sweater in maroon.

The last gift Harry opened was the most puzzling: Dumbledore had returned his father's invisibility cloak. Despite the fact that the accompanying note was not signed, Harry immediately recognized the handwriting, and along with it the purpose for sending it now. After all, Dumbledore was automatically the magical guardian of all muggleborns and orphans unless someone else claimed guardianship. With this position, he could very easily have returned the cloak to Harry's vault where it belonged. Perhaps it had already been there, but he'd taken it out to present it to the boy as a first attempt to inspire loyalty. He was years too late for that, Harry thought with a sardonic grin. As for the cloak itself, he could think of many uses for it, most of which Dumbledore wouldn't approve of. It would definitely work better than a Disillusionment charm on his morning trips to the Chamber of Secrets, but why not use it for something a little more entertaining as well? Perhaps he could discover passageways Tom hadn't found during his time at the school.

The rest of the day was like a dream for Harry. Somehow, he managed to let go of all his worries and obligations and just have fun.

The Christmas lunch was equal parts tedious and amusing. He never thought he'd see so many teachers a little more than tipsy. If only Dumbledore hadn't been there, Harry could have let his guard down a lot more. He acted the jovial old man, but Harry caught him watching him several times throughout the meal. Was he not acting as he should be? He hadn't glared at Ron once that day—well, not in the presence of adults.

After they'd finished their meal, the students still at the school went out to play in the snow. As much as Harry showed his respect for Quirrell in Defense class, he couldn't hide his laughter as Fred and George continually pelted his turban with snowballs. Tom was probably pissed, but he could do nothing about it for now.

Late that night when everyone had gone to bed, Harry hatched one of his many plans. After making sure his dorm mates were all asleep, he quietly rose from his bed, dawned the invisibility cloak, and silenced his movements. The first year boys' dorm room door opened and shut again without a sound, and Harry was gone.

He started on the first floor. Tom had done a lot of exploring in the dungeons, and his followers had been happy to inform him of places they'd found as well. Despite Harry's desire to find what Tom had missed, he wanted to start where he was a little more likely to find something new. He also wanted to see how much had changed since Tom had roamed Hogwarts' ancient halls. He peeked into each and every classroom, comparing them to the ones from Tom's memories.

About an hour into his search, Harry stumbled across something that definitely hadn't been there last week, let alone fifty years ago. He stepped into the room to better examine his find.

A tall, ornate mirror glittered in the moonlight coming through the classroom windows. He moved closer to read the inscription across the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. What was that supposed to mean? It didn't look like any language he or Tom had learned. But perhaps… a mirror… "I show not your face, but your heart's desire," Harry murmured after several long moments of contemplation. Ron had told Harry about this artifact not too long ago. It had been created in the late 1800's, enchanter unknown. Many had wasted away in front of it, desperately wishing for their impossible desire to become reality. Why was it at the school now? Moreover, why wasn't it covered in dust like the rest of the room?

Should he look? Would he ever be able to tear himself away? In the end, the temptation was too great. One small glance wouldn't hurt, he reasoned. As Harry met his own gaze in the mirror, his reflection shimmered, then changed.

For a moment, Harry couldn't see himself in the newly formed image. Tom stood on a stage in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. He was giving a speech to a full crowd, and they all looked very pleased at his undoubtedly inspiring words. But Harry was not in the crowd.

Just as Harry was going to turn away, a movement caught the corner of his eye. He glanced toward it, and immediately his eyes locked on a man in the shadows behind Tom. He met Harry's gaze and winked. The first year's eyes widened as he fully took in the figure—it was an older version of himself! He had neither a mask nor a Dark Mark. He was the only one on the stage besides Tom, so he was either the man's right hand or his silent equal, Harry reasoned. The way his mirror image held himself screamed confidence and power.

How had he known he would see this? That was his heart's desire, not the future, Harry told himself in as firm a tone as he could manage. He closed his eyes for a long moment in an attempt to ground himself. It was his heart's desire, but it could be the future too. He just had to work harder, push himself to the limits. Tom was growing in strength again—he'd surely return soon, and Harry had to be ready when he did.

Harry kept his eyes firmly closed until he'd turned to face the other direction. Only then did he allow himself to reopen them. He kept his gaze straight ahead as he left the room, refusing to give into his desire to see it just one more time. He'd see it again when he was there for himself.

Harry's resolution only lasted until the next evening. He didn't have to be up early the next morning, he didn't have to take anyone with him, and nobody would realize he was gone. This is how he convinced himself that one more glimpse wouldn't hurt. After all, he'd spent most of the time the night before scanning the crowd for his mirror reflection. Maybe he could get some more clues about how he'd attained that position.

Unfortunately, the mirror gave Harry no information to go on. He hadn't given up hope though. The next night, he convinced himself to go back one more time—just once more, he told himself, then he'd leave it alone.

True to his word, though perhaps not through his own power, that night was the last time he saw that image.

He'd been in front of the mirror for no longer than ten seconds when a voice spoke up from behind him. "Back again, I see."

Harry spun to face the voice with his wand drawn. He froze upon catching sight of long silvery hair lit by moonlight. "Professor Dumbledore?"

The old man smiled in response, then gestured towards the mirror. "Tell me, Harry: have you discovered what it does yet?"

Harry nodded cautiously. "It shows your heart's desire."

Dumbledore looked pleased. "Indeed. It is a magnificent piece of work, but it is also dangerous. Many great men have been driven mad upon seeing something unattainable. I hope you do not find yourself among those men."

"No sir," Harry responded determinedly.

At this, Dumbledore felt a trickle of worry. Perhaps Harry was more independent than he'd intended. He'd just have to keep a closer watch. Nevertheless, he smiled warmly as he announced, "this mirror will be moved tomorrow. I hope, for your sake, that you do not go looking for it."

"Yes sir." Harry picked his invisibility cloak off the floor, sensing that he'd been dismissed. "Good night, sir."

Harry only allowed his annoyance to show when he had safely returned to his bed. How had he missed the old man's presence? Perhaps he'd been wearing a Disillusionment charm—or perhaps Harry had been so focused on the end result that he'd ignored everything else. The mirror had taught him something after all.

Author's Note:

So… what do you think Harry's idea from the Dark Magic discussion is? It's going to come into play after all is said and done with the stone—it might take an extra chapter of first year, we'll see. It may also have implications for future years—again, we'll see. I haven't figured out all the logistics yet. I'm thinking though that this story will be more political than I'd originally anticipated. (Great.)

I think the Mirror of Erised was in the dungeons, but for the sake of this story and showing Harry's slight carelessness, I've placed it on the first floor.

I kind of like Harry's mindset here, no idea why. I think the memories are making him think he's older than he is… but who knows? I have no idea where his thoughts come from, I just write them.

I improv'd the scene with Dumbledore and Harry. Sorry if that bothers anyone.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Author's Note:

Hey all! Did you miss me? *crickets*

I am so sorry. I know it's been over three months. School was even busier than anticipated. I also sort of lost inspiration for a while. I feel it coming back a little though, so let's hope I can get things out faster from now on. I don't think I'll ever totally lose interest in this story, but if I don't post for a while, you'll know why. I hope I can get a little more written before I go back to school, but no promises.

I feel this thank you paragraph is beginning to be redundant… that doesn't make you guys any less awesome though. I am so amazed that I'm still getting new followers every week, despite the length of time I've been away. Thank you for not letting me forget about this story. I have also given up replying to each alert because I'm just so behind. I will still reply to reviews though, so please feel free to drop a line at the bottom.

I've been preparing a few reviewers for a "big event", though those whom I told will probably not remember *ducks head in shame*. I'm happy to say it will happen in the next chapter. It's not particularly original—well, sort of—but it's original in this situation. I will give a huge hug and cookie and mention to anyone who can guess what it is.

WARNINGS: gore (not too descriptive though), animal cruelty (if you can call it that…?).

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, Harry would have matured more throughout the series. Debatable? Maybe—PM me and we'll talk. :D

Chapter Fifteen

The removal of the mirror didn't stop Harry from venturing out late at night. On the contrary, it encouraged him to explore to see if there was anything else interesting lying around. In the next two nights, he found a couple secret passages and hidden rooms behind portraits that Tom hadn't known of. He didn't consider them to be major discoveries, but he made mental notes for future reference.

On December 31, he left Gryffindor tower once again after everyone else had gone to bed. Instead of picking up his exploration where he'd left off the night before, however, he made his way directly to the forbidden corridor on the third floor.

All was still and silent; Tom hadn't shown up yet. Harry leaned against the wall next to the locked door, keeping all his senses on full alert.

A few minutes later, Harry perked up at a slight scuffling sound from the other end of the corridor. He squinted into the gloom, but still he saw nothing out of the ordinary.

A moment later, Quirrell's form came suddenly into view less than a foot in front of his face. He gave a little yelp of surprise, instantly giving away his location. Quirrell only smirked, pulled out his wand, and flicked it at the door handle a few times—most likely dismantling alarm wards, Harry realized. The door swung silently open, and Quirrell stepped back as if to say, "after you."

Harry removed his invisibility cloak, took a deep breath, then entered through the open door. Immediately, he caught sight of an enormous dog—but not an ordinary dog, he quickly realized. This one had three heads, each more fearsome than the last. They'd been resting near the dog's paws, but upon sensing the newcomers' presence, they lifted, sniffed, then began to drool and growl.

Harry stepped back, shocked and horrified. This was his first task? They certainly weren't starting easy. A rough poke in the middle of his back urged him forward again—how had Tom known what he was thinking?—and he pulled his wand in response. He would not freeze as he had with the troll. He closed his eyes for a long, precious moment, then snapped them open. In the next second, his wand was slashing through the air horizontally in front of him. Three neat, fatal wounds appeared as if made by a large invisible knife. In the next instant, the dog's heads fell at the floor by its front paws with three distinctive thuds. He looked away in disgust and guilt as blood gushed from the wounds he'd made.

Tom's wand nudged him forward again until they were both standing in the room and the door was shut behind them. "Effective," he remarked. "Music would have put it to sleep, but I like this method—it's more permanent, less risky."

Harry cringed in response. If only he'd known… but he could have, he realized. Tom had just shared this fact, which meant it should be in his memories. Sure enough, Harry watched in his mind as a younger Tom learned this in his Care of Magical Creatures class. Sure, he'd managed to not panic, but he'd also disregarded less permanent methods of dealing with the first obstacle. What did that say about him?

"Well? On we go then." Quirrell's hand gestured to a trap door under the dog's belly. A trap door that was now drenched in fresh blood. Harry cringed, pouring extra magic into the vanishing spell. When he looked again, the floor was as spotless as it had been not five minutes before. Quirrell flicked his wand to dismantle another set of alarm wards, these ones a little more complex. Harry stepped forward cautiously and lifted the trap door. However, Quirrell did not approach. "After you, Harry," he prompted.

Harry cringed again, but obediently lowered himself into the hole. He held onto the rim with his hands, letting his entire body dangle in the empty space below. He could see nothing when he looked down. Knowing what the first obstacle had been only made him worry more for his safety. If there was another magical creature waiting for him below, he wouldn't know until it was far too late. But he had no choice. Taking a deep breath, Harry let go.

For one long moment, he was freefalling through the air. In the next, he was tangled up in something soft and squishy. His first response was to pull his wand from the pocket of his robes and cast a Lumos. As he did so, the squishy thing jerked away from his wrist. Harry let out a short cry, jerking his whole body in shock. In response, the squishiness around him pulled him further into its embrace. And yet, it didn't come near his wand. This was Devil's Snare, he realized. They'd learned about it in Herbology not too long ago. Closing his eyes, Harry pushed more and more magic into his wand. Light pierced through his eyelids and he squinted even more, but his spell had its intended affect as the plant also cringed away. After a few moments, Harry stood and moved towards a wall and away from the plant. "Clear," he called up to Tom.

As soon as the man hit the Devil's Snare with a satisfying thwump, Harry flicked his wand to dislodge the ball of light from its tip. He sent it to hover in the middle of the room near where Tom had landed. The plant recoiled again, allowing the man to stand and make his way to Harry's side. "Good," he commented. "After your little display above I expected something a little more showy, but this works just fine. I'm surprised they put something so simple here though," he commented idly.

Harry had to agree. He hadn't quite thought of it like that, but something had made him think perhaps not all was as it seemed. Dumbledore had told the school that anyone who decided to venture into the forbidden corridor would face a gruesome death. Harry would have theorized that he was referring to the dog, who was there to guard valuable items; but Devil's Snare was not exactly valuable. Was it supposed to be another part of the protection then? If so, it was not very difficult to pass through—unless it was only meant to incapacitate. But even then, whomever had come up with the idea could surely have come up with something a little harder to get out of. Yes, something was definitely not right here. But they'd come too far to turn back now.

With a shrug, Harry cut the magic fueling the Lumos and turned to face the door leading on. At that moment, his ears caught a faint rustling sound. It seemed incredibly familiar, but he couldn't place it from this distance. He stepped cautiously towards the door, anticipating another creature or plant. Unfortunately there was no window through which he could glimpse his next challenge, so with his wand out and ready, he twisted the doorknob and pulled. In his state of wary concentration, he didn't notice the sheen of sweat on Quirrell's forehead as he disabled yet another set of alarms.

At first, Harry thought they were birds. Then he saw the silver glint that shone in the light coming from everywhere and nowhere. Then he made out the shape. They were flying keys. And sure enough—he peered through the mess of keys—there was a door on the other side of the room with a heavy lock in its handle. That all made sense. So why was there a broomstick beside the door on the other side of the room? Was this task designed to be easy? Well, Harry decided, he didn't want to take the easy way out. Perhaps it was time to test his pure magic manipulation. He closed his eyes and pushed a wave of magic from his wand. It cautiously prodded the nearest key, searching for curse, hex or jinx triggers. When he found none, he let his magic expand more to fill the room.

"Try overpowering the magic of the keys," Tom suggested from behind him.

Harry jumped, not expecting the man to speak, but nevertheless followed the instruction. In the end, it was quite easy. The charms making the keys fly were like little sparks. All he had to do was surround each with his magic and push inward, and the charm gave way with a little puff. Unfortunately, he could only do a couple at a time, and they were quite evasive. When at last he'd managed to get them all, he opened his eyes to see that all the keys were hovering in the air exactly where they'd been when their charms had been cut. He pulled his magic away from one just to see what would happen, and it fell to the floor with a metallic clink. He let all his magic go then, and the rest fell in a shower of glinting metal rain.

"Eventually you will learn to do that more quickly," Tom commented. "Magic does not have human limitations. It does not have only two hands with which to capture the keys. When you can feel all the sparks, you can compress your magic around them all at the same time. It takes some getting used to."

Harry nodded absently. The lock was heavy, so he was looking for a heavy key. However, Tom cut him off in his search. "No no, Harry, let's make this a bit of a challenge. Break the charm on the handle without using a key."

"I wish you'd told me that from the start," Harry groaned, crossing the key-littered floor to the door on the other side. After Quirrell had done his check for wards and hexes, Harry pointed his wand at the handle and let out a small stream of magic. Sure enough, he felt a similar charm on the handle that had been on the keys. This charm, however, proved to be a little more stubborn and difficult to crush. In the end, it took at least three times as much magic to open the door as it had taken to stop one key from playing hard to get.

The next room was dark, but lanterns on the walls flared to life just as the door clicked shut behind the two wizards.

"Chess?" Harry laughed incredulously. "Definitely not my biggest strength…"

He'd just started searching Tom's memories for strategies when the man himself cut him off. "Perhaps think outside the box. These pieces must be magical…"

Harry's eyes snapped open at this. It would be easy enough to do to these pieces as he'd done to the keys. But Quirrell interrupted before he could direct his magic toward the first one. "Perhaps try another method."

Harry frowned again and closed his eyes. He couldn't play his way through, and he couldn't deactivate the magic that animated them. Was he meant to fight his way through? Unless… After a few moments' consideration, he gathered a cloud of magic around his feet, then directed it upwards. He opened his eyes a moment later to see that the ground was farther away than he remembered. He looked down at Quirrell, who gave him an approving nod.

"Do you need me to get you over too?" Harry asked his mentor.

"It would be good practice," the man affirmed.

With a sigh, Harry lowered himself back down and extended the cloud of magic around Quirrell as well. Another command of up had them back in the air.

It took Harry a bit of time to figure out how to get them to move forward. Propelling them off walls with tentacle-like branches of magic made them move faster, but it took more effort than his magic's swimming motion that drifted them through the air.

"Your magic does not rely on the physical plane," Quirrell hinted after several moments of watching the first year struggle.

Harry pursed his lips in annoyance at himself. Of course it didn't. He knew that. A command of forward and an impression of moving at what would be a sprinting pace had them across the room in no time. He lowered them gently to the ground, then started on the lock for the next door. He didn't see the sly grin that crossed Quirrell's face as he dismantled the next set of alarm wards.

The stench was the first thing that hit Harry. It was so familiar, he noted, covering his mouth and nose and coughing to expel the odor from his lungs. He peered into the room through watering eyes and groaned upon seeing its contents. Before he could think too much about it, his magic formed a long club-like shape and hardened until it was almost visible. It still weighed nothing though, Harry marveled as he swung it at the troll's head with all his strength.

Task dealt with, he looked back at the Defense professor. "Sorry, but I wanted to get out of here quickly," he explained, still covering his mouth and nose.

Quirrell rolled his eyes but nodded his consent nonetheless, and the two walked to the next door, this one just as easy to open as the last few had been. As soon as they'd both passed through, flames sprung up at the other end of the small room. Harry glanced back at Quirrell, only to notice that the flames had also appeared behind them, blocking their exit as well. Hopefully he could get them out of this, Harry thought, because if he couldn't get them forward he wouldn't be able to get them back either.

He first tried the simplest solution: an Aquamenti. When the flames only absorbed the water, he turned to Tom's memories for an explanation of just what kind of fire this was. It was too controlled to be Fiendfyre, but… of course! As Quirrell had revealed, several professors had been assigned to place tasks here. First had probably been the Care of Magical Creatures professor, then Herbology, then Charms, then Transfiguration, then Defense. Potions was notably missing from this list, and it just so happened that if you hadn't cast the fires, you needed to ingest an incredibly complex potion in order for you to pass through them unharmed. And of course, nobody would just have that potion on them. As far as Tom knew, there was no way for one who hadn't cast them to put them out. So there must be another way through, Harry deduced. He looked around the room for inspiration. The only other thing in the space was a table against the right hand wall with several bottles of potions and a scroll of parchment. Harry approached cautiously and unrolled the scroll with his magic. He glanced over the eight lines written on it, then up at the potions. The parchment appeared to be a puzzle, but from Tom's memories he could already identify the bottle that would get them through each fire. He pulled them from the line with the tips of two fingers, then examined the others to make certain he'd chosen correctly. He turned to Quirrell with a smirk. "Do you have a use for any of the other bottles, my lord?"

The man leaned over Harry's shoulder, first to examine the riddle, then the bottles. In response to Harry's question, he tapped his wand on the other five options the riddle presented. Within moments, the shrunken labelled bottles disappeared under the Defense professor's cloak. "Shall we proceed?"

Harry uncorked the smallest bottle and tipped it back. There wasn't much potion in it, but one needed less than a swallow to get through the flames. If they both took the minimum amount, it would get them through and back. He offered it to the Dark Lord in disguise, who copied the first year's actions and pocketed the bottle alongside the others. Together, they turned to step through the flames.

Upon entering the next room, Harry's eyes were immediately drawn to the mirror in the back corner. It was the same one he'd encountered while exploring the school, the one that Dumbledore had told him would be moved. But why would it be moved here? I see not your face but your heart's desire… Just one more look couldn't hurt anything, Harry reasoned.

However, the image he'd been expecting was only there for an instant. In the next, it was replaced with another image of him. This him gave a charming smile and conspiratory wink before reaching into a pocket and pulling out a blood-red stone. Before it was fully in view, he dropped it back where it had come from. As the image vanished to be replaced with the other one again, a corresponding stone suddenly weighted Harry's pocket.

Harry blinked, unsure if what he'd seen was real, relatively speaking. He placed his right hand over his pocket, remembering the location of mirror Harry's hand. To his astonishment, he could feel a large lump through the fabric of his robes. He reached his hand in, unsure of what he'd find. When he pulled it out again, his eyes widened in astonishment. Here was the same blood-red stone mirror Harry had given him a glimpse of. But how could it be? This mirror was meant to show his heart's desire. It shouldn't be able to make stones appear out of nowhere.

"Let me see!" Tom hissed. Harry's hand extended automatically, and the professor plucked the stone from his upturned palm.

Harry, however, barely took notice. His mind had turned from the how to the what. Had Tom ever seen such a stone? A moment later, Harry realized that he had—the Philosopher's Stone! But this discovery provided more questions than answers. How had it gotten into the school? Why would it be stored here? Here, he realized suddenly, the place that Dumbledore had warned them away from. But if he truly didn't want anyone to explore, why wouldn't he have just warded it off? Why would he have told people not to go there? In a school where one quarter of the students were encouraged to be adventurous, no less…

Harry could come up with theories, but he wouldn't have a concrete answer until he knew more information. He looked up to see the Dark Lord's triumphant expression. He was still examining the stone Harry had just given him on a silver platter. "What will you do with it, my lord?" Harry murmured, admiring it himself.

"It is the key to immortality," the Dark Lord hissed with reverence.

Harry frowned. "Yes," he agreed, "if you have a body. The stone turns objects to gold and produces the Elixir of Life, but that's it, isn't it? It's an impressive piece of alchemy, to say the least, but it can't do everything." Harry stiffened then in preparation for a punishment. After all, the man did not allow his followers to contradict him in this way, especially younger, less intelligent ones.

As Harry anticipated, the Defense professor's attention was drawn from the object in his hand. His glance, however, held contemplation rather than anger. He watched Harry for a moment, then returned his attention to the stone with slightly glazed eyes. "Very true," he agreed softly. "Getting this stone has been my year-long goal, but for what? The immortality which I already have?" Harry's eyes were wide. The man was talking to himself—he'd all but forgotten that Harry was still there.

"Were you looking to regain a body?" Harry whispered, unsure if he should even speak. The man's eyes locked onto Harry's again, and this time the expected spark of anger ignited. But before it could catch, Harry continued, "because alchemy would be a good bet. And that's Nicolas Flamel's stone—he's the best alchemist you'll find. If you don't need the stone, maybe you could return it for a favor…?"

Lord Voldemort's eyes stayed locked on Harry with such intensity that he was afraid to move or even look away. Finally, the older man declared, "you have done Lord Voldemort a great service. For this reason alone, you shall not be Obliviated. However, Dumbledore will know very soon that the stone is gone if he doesn't already. We must make it look like you struggled valiantly against your enemy, but were ultimately overcome." In a flicker of movement that Harry could never have hoped to counter, Lord Voldemort pulled out his wand. "Crucio. Stupefy."

There was pain, then darkness.

Author's Note:

Apologies for not making the rooms look exactly like in canon. I don't own the books or the movies—I read and watched them years ago—so I'm just making things up as I go with the help of online research. I can't do online images either—it's complicated.

Lastly, I hope you all have had/are having a wonderful holiday season, no matter what you celebrate.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Author's Note:

Holy crap! I forgot just how addicting reviews/favs/follows are. They're like … mmm … parts of the giant Toblerone bar I have on my desk. You sit there having a stair-down with it but you know you shouldn't, then you do and you get a sugar high and… *sigh* Seriously, thank you all so much for reviewing, faving and following. You've made my days, even if I've somehow forgotten to thank you.

This is the big one. The one we've all been waiting for (even though it was quite a bit shorter than I'd intended)! … No? Just me? Okay then, let's move on. :P

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, Voldemort would have had a spy somewhere high up in the Order of the Phoenix. Ah, the chaos…

Chapter Sixteen

Albus Dumbledore, the leader of the Light, was a grandfatherly figure to many. He was powerful yet kind, and he always had a wise word for any who might seek his council. His hobbies and interests were often called bizarre; indeed, many hypothesized that his mind was beginning to slip in his old age. This persona was his biggest asset. Underneath it lay a still-sharp, ever-calculative mind. When he combined these two strengths, as he intended to do this crisp January morning, his requests were rarely denied.

In the end, The Hogwarts Headmaster's considerable persuasion skills were unnecessary. Madam Pomfrey, the school's Mediwitch, had already taken care of her patient and, not expecting him to wake any time soon, had returned to her office to request more potions for the hospital wing. She had placed a ward over him that would allow her to know when he'd woken, but no other long-lasting spells had been cast on the boy. That was a good sign, Dumbledore reasoned. The lack of protection wards indicated Tom still saw Harry Potter as his enemy. He hadn't discovered the nature of their connection. He'd been worrying that the first year's lessons with Quirrell would result in a change in their relationship. After all, Tom was known for his persuasion skills. He would have eavesdropped if Tom, ever cautious, hadn't put up wards against such things.

The Headmaster had been woken in the middle of the last night of the year by the alarm ward for the mirror of Erised. He'd considered the possibility that all previous alarms would be silenced, so he'd placed one where it was easiest for any seeking the stone to be distracted. He'd arrived to see Harry Potter laying still on the floor with the body of Professor Quirrell near his feet. Most concerning, the stone was nowhere to be found. He'd brought the Boy-Who-Lived and the Defense professor's corpse up to the infirmary, but the matron had shooed him off before he could investigate. So he'd gone for a stroll around the castle, then taken a roundabout route back to the hospital wing.

Albus Dumbledore did not consider the fact that Lord Voldemort, in his haste, had failed to take into account Lily Potter's protection on her son. After the Crucio, he'd had only enough power to banish the stone to a safe place. He'd been forcefully ejected from Professor Quirrell's body mere moments before Dumbledore's arrival. These two men would never know how close they'd come to encountering one another that evening.

Hogwarts' Headmaster had just turned to leave when a thought occurred to him: perhaps, while he was here, he could examine young Harry's mind. He'd been planning to do such a thing, but now was the perfect time; the boy would be much less aware of it when unconscious. Technically it was legal—after all, he was Harry's magical guardian. He had the right to investigate as he saw fit.

So investigate he did. And he was glad he'd done so, too.

The first thing he noticed was that Harry had made very good headway on Occlumency shields. They were fairly easy to break through though, especially since the boy was not conscious for the invasion, and Dumbledore was very gentle in his entrance.

The second thing he noticed was that the first year had far, far too many memories for a boy his age. Even before he skimmed random memories to get a sense for how they were sorted, he estimated there were sixty or seventy years' worth of memories. Upon further investigation, he learned that they were arranged into two clusters, which were attached to each other by many fine threads. These threads connected one memory to others, creating trains of thought, as muggles would call them. The smaller cluster of memories, Dumbledore decided, were likely Harry's own. There looked to be enough of them to account for eleven years of life. The other, much larger body, however, was a different story. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Albus Dumbledore found a starting place and began skimming the memories. The technique he used was reminiscent of skimming one's fingertips over still water. One could experience the texture and feel its small movements without immersing an entire hand or body in the liquid. When skimming memories, one sees snatches of the scenes from a bird's eye view. Using this technique, the Headmaster learned very quickly just whom those memories belonged to. He withdrew from the boy's mind with a grave frown on his face. When he re-entered, he had a different spell on his lips: Obliviate.

Obliviation was a tricky process, especially when covering Tom Riddle's memories in Harry Potter's mind. For one, it was clear the boy relied heavily on the memories, as the pathways between them and his own memories were very strong.

As he worked, Albus Dumbledore soon found himself forming a plan. He could not remove all traces of the memories, not without far more time than he could borrow. Besides, with his plans for the boy, it was highly probable they'd be re-discovered. After all, the path of a savior involves much pain, mental and physical, and only these things could return Obliviated memories. It was worrying that Harry had relied so much on them, but perhaps the ancient wizard could give him something else to rely on while they were missing. Perhaps he could sway the Boy-Who-Lived to his side so that when the inevitable happened, young Harry would know that he had another option.

This being decided, he slipped from the unconscious first year's mind. He turned to leave the infirmary, then hesitated and turned back. Perhaps his plans needed a bit of a push. With a subtly-placed compulsion to be open-minded, Hogwarts' Headmaster left with a swirl of star-spangled purple robes.

Author's Note:

BOOM! *sits back with popcorn to watch fireworks*

*wipes sweat from forehead* For some reason, I stared at this blank document for a couple days, then I sat down and wrote it in one sitting. Dumbledore is really not an easy character for me to write, especially since I'm taking care with my portrayal of him. He shall not be bashed. On that note, we won't see many chapters from other characters' points of view—in fact, this is the only one of its kind that I know of. It's also one of the shortest ones I'll write—hopefully. I figured this needed a chapter all to itself.


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